


Running With It

by ivy_baskin, LB714



Category: Actor RPF, Daniel Radcliffe - Fandom
Genre: Difficult Decisions, Erotica, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivy_baskin/pseuds/ivy_baskin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LB714/pseuds/LB714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young New Yorker named Molly O'Connor literally runs into Daniel Radcliffe while they are both out running.  He is living in NYC while appearing in Equus on Broadway, and the two are attracted to each other right from the start, even though she is older than he and not sure it's a good idea to get involved with a famous actor. But they cannot resist the attraction; they start dating, and are soon involved in a passionate relationship, spending as much time together as they can. They fall deeply in love, and when Daniel eventually has to go home. . . . how can this possibly end well?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter work that begins with a PG rating, and turns into an Explicit rating fairly quickly.

**_CHAPTER 1_**  
  
  
He had just started his morning run, had just covered a few blocks, when he decided to change direction and try a different route. So what if he got lost? That was half the fun, wasn't it? Discovering a new street, a new neighborhood. Besides, the song he was listening to on his iPod was really getting him pumped, and he felt a surge of adrenaline as he turned the corner and . . .

She was looking at her watch— _just five more minutes, and then I'd better head back_ —as she turned the corner, and **WHAM!** All the air was knocked right out of her as she collided with someone, hard. She—and the someone—both landed flat on their butts on the sidewalk, and then she saw a small rectangular object fly through the air and land on the sidewalk, too, smashing into a hundred pieces.

"Oh, my god—I'm sorry!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "That was your iPod, wasn't it? Oh, damn." She felt stupid, and clumsy—and responsible—as she tried to get up off the ground. If she'd just paid attention to where she was going . . .

"No, no, that was entirely my fault!" he began, completely flustered. He quickly stood up and held out his hand. "I'm so sorry. I should have been watching where I was going. That was completely stupid of me."

"But your iPod—it's ruined! Please let me pay for at least part—"

As she spoke, she looked up at him for the first time, and realized just who she had knocked down.

"You're . . . Daniel Radcliffe. I mean . . . sorry." She blushed and cursed herself silently. "You're doing _Equus_ on Broadway—I've seen the posters at the Broadhurst, and read some of the reviews. It sounds amazing."

She forgot all about the iPod and her schedule as she looked at him, and tried not to stare as she did. He was better looking than any of the photos she'd ever seen of him. Those blue eyes . . .

"You haven't seen it, then?" he asked, pulling her to her feet. He just then noticed that his victim was a very attractive young woman, clearly in shape from all the running she must do.

"I'm sorry to say I haven't," she answered with a rueful grin. "I heard somewhere it wasn't easy to get tickets, and I'm afraid Broadway shows are a little outside my budget at the moment." She felt slightly stupid saying that to him, but it was no more than the truth.

"Oh—I'm Molly, by the way." She wondered if he might think her name was hopelessly old-fashioned.

"It's very nice to meet you, Molly," Dan said, holding out his hand again. "I'm Dan. But you already knew that, didn't you?" He wondered if his cheeks were turning red, because something about this girl was making him nervous, self-conscious. "Listen, I do have to run—I mean, go, literally—but if you're interested in seeing the show, come to the theatre tonight. I'll make sure there's a ticket for you. It's the least I can do after smashing into you like that."

"Oh, no, really! It was as much my fault as yours. You don't have to do that!" She was sure a little dent to her dignity was _not_ worth the price of a theatre ticket, but . . . She tried not to smile at the thought that at least she'd get to see him again, if only from afar. But no—she just couldn't accept that from him.

"I insist, really. You must come. I think you'd really enjoy it." He paused—was he being too pushy? "Unless, of course, you're not interested in that sort of thing."

"Oh, no, that's not it!!" _Great, now I've offended him._ "I would love to see it . . . it just seems like too much. You really don't need to—" She hesitated. "What I'm trying to say is, I would feel a little guilty accepting it, but if you insist . . ." Molly smiled, "I would love to see _Equus_."

"Great. That's really great. A-and you don't need to feel guilty—I get a certain number of house seats, so you'd be doing me a favour, really. Otherwise, the seats are empty."

Doing him a favor . . . Molly was certain she had never met anyone as gracious as he was; running into him had been _her_ fault, as far as she could see. So polite.

While he wrote down her name on a piece of paper he'd fished out of his pocket, she took advantage of his distraction to study him for a moment. He had a wonderful profile . . . too bad she wouldn't ever see it up this close again. But a house seat would be amazing, and at least she would see him. . . .

 

******  


 

  
When Molly got to the theatre that night, she asked at the box office for the ticket. They asked her to wait, and a few moments later, Dan's father, Alan Radcliffe, came out with the ticket, and greetings from Dan. She couldn't help it—she stared at him for a moment before regaining her composure. A ticket was all she had been expecting, truly.

He smiled at her surprise and said, "Dan really wants to know what you think of the play, afterwards. . . ."

He handed her a note. She was to exit by a certain door and be escorted to a waiting SUV. Escorted? She hadn't realized that, when she accepted the ticket, she would be accepting more than just an invitation to see the play. And secretly, she was excited.

A man who was obviously a bodyguard met her at the special door, as arranged, and with a furtive glance or two hustled her into the SUV, where she sat, all alone. While she wondered where it would take her, it started moving slowly, glided around a couple of corners, and then the driver stopped—though he didn't cut the engine. The windows are all dark and opaque, but she started to piece things together. She was now waiting in the SUV's customary spot, right in front of the stage door. . . .

Molly gazed in amazement at the crowd gathered by the stage door, corralled like a herd of restless cows. _All this for him?_ she wondered. But after meeting Dan earlier, she began to understand the appeal. And that became more apparent as a piercing scream rang out from the crowd and Dan appeared. He immediately started signing autographs. Molly watched, fascinated, as he moved quickly along the barricade, but seemed to give each person individual attention. Finally, the back door of the SUV opened and Dan stepped in, smiling.

"Hello," he said, as the SUV pulled away from the curb, away from the crowd. Now it was just the two of them. "I'm glad you took me up on my offer, Molly," he said quietly. "And I do want to know what you thought of the play. I know somewhere—" He paused and actually looked a little shy for a moment. "I mean, would you like to go somewhere quiet, where we could sit and talk for a bit?"

She stared at him for a second, blinking, and then bit her lip and nodded. . . .

Dan gave instructions to the driver, but Molly didn't catch the name of the place. As they headed downtown, she asked him what it was like to have hundreds of adoring fans night after night.

Dan laughed and blushed, muttering something about how you get used to it. Somehow Molly found that charming and attractive at the same time.

They soon arrived at their destination—a small, out-of-the way restaurant. Even though it was late, there were still a number of people out and about, but no one took notice of the young couple as they entered the pub. It was a casual place, all dark wood and candles, and the hostess immediately recognized Dan and led him to the back. On the way, Dan nodded and waved to the bartender. Molly was keenly aware that Dan seemed to know everyone, and she was suddenly self-conscious.

"Is this, umm, one of your favourite places, then?" she asked, feeling a little nervous. Suddenly Molly found herself wondering how often he brought people—no, women—here, and then began to wonder if it had been such a good idea to come here with him.

He explained that his parents had found this place, and he came here often with them, because it was the one restaurant where he'd been able to avoid the "adoring fans." For now, anyway. He sighed, looking a little sad for a moment. But then he smiled at her, and somehow, she knew she could trust him.

A waiter suddenly appeared at the table and handed out menus.

"I'm sorry," Dan said, as Molly began to peruse the offerings. "I'd order a bottle of wine, but I'm afraid I'm not allowed here in your country."

Now it was Molly's turn to be embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry about that. That must be kind of weird for you. But hey, it's okay, because I'm not much of a drinker."

"Oh, good. That's good," he replied. He suddenly felt nervous, for some reason. "Besides, I want to talk about the play, and I have a feeling that after a few drinks, we wouldn't be talking about the play anymore."

She started to giggle at that last comment, and then stopped, a little worried—she didn't want him to think she was laughing at him. But he seemed to understand she was nervous, too. "Diet Coke is my usual poison—what about you?" he asked, smiling again. She ordered iced tea, and the waiter went off, giving them the chance to go back to the menu. She wasn't really hungry, so she just ordered some small appetizer, even though Dan urged her to try a pasta dish that was the restaurant's specialty. When they had both made their choices, and the waiter taken their orders, Dan settled back into the bench beside her, looking at her intently.

"So. What _did_ you think of the play?"

She had been fidgeting with the cutlery, and now looked up. Dan seemed eager and curious, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation. "It was pretty amazing," she stated simply.

"Thank you very much, indeed."

"You're welcome."

"What else? What did you think of the story?"

Molly thought for a minute. She felt his eyes, so big and blue and intelligent, boring into her thoughts. "Intense. Frightening."

And then it all sort of poured out of her. She found this boy, this boy she hardly knew, incredibly easy to talk to, and he seemed to hang on every word that came out of her mouth. His eyes almost never left hers, and when the waiter came over with the beverages, Dan broke contact only long enough to offer a polite thank-you. Then his attention belonged to Molly, and to her alone.

It was the same when the food arrived; he acknowledged it politely, and then went right back to their discussion, asking questions, wondering what her reaction to a certain line or movement had been. Before the meal was over, the conversation had moved from _Equus_ in particular to theater in general. He wanted to know her favorite play, and why, and he shared his favorite, too.

It was only when they'd both finished eating that a silence fell between them, but it was a contented, natural pause. Looking up from her plate, Molly found him looking at her.

"You're very easy to talk to," he said quietly, taking her completely by surprise. She'd just been thinking the same thing.

"So are you. You're not at all what I expected."

"Oh? What did you expect?" he asked with mock indignation.

Molly laughed, and he grinned. "I don't know. The typical arrogant actor," she replied.

"So you don't think I'm arrogant."

"No, actually I think you're kind of . . . nice." Now she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. _Have I said too much?_ she wondered.

Dan smiled again. His eyes seemed to twinkle in the dim light. "Thank you." But before he could say more, the waiter came back to ask if they'd like anything else.

Dan looked at Molly and raised his eyebrows. She shook her head, even though she was tempted to order dessert, just to prolong the moment. Dan told the waiter, "Just the bill, then."

For a moment, she tried not to look at him—not sure what to say, a little sad that the evening was on the edge of being over.

"What?" he asked quietly, and she quickly raised her head.

"Umm . . . it's late, isn't it?" she said awkwardly. "I don't want to keep you . . ." Her words trailed off, and she suddenly felt embarrassed. "I suppose I should go."

He stared at her for a moment, then stretched out his hand, stopping just short of touching hers, so that all she could feel was the warmth of his skin. "I've really enjoyed talking to you," he said. "And I think you're nice, too."

"So, um, maybe we could do this again sometime." Molly couldn't believe she was being this bold, especially with someone like Dan, but something about him, about the ease with which he carried himself and yet had this quiet vulnerability that she imagined most people didn't see, gave her the sense that he wanted her to suggest that.

"I'd like that. Might I have your number?"

He asked so politely, Molly felt as though she was going to melt right into his eyes.

"Yes." There was a moment where they both fumbled around, looking for a pen, but then Dan spotted the one left by the waiter for him to sign the bill.

With an expression of "Eureka!" he handed Molly the pen and a cocktail napkin, and she wrote down her name and number. As she handed him the napkin, their fingers touched, and it was as though everything just stopped—there were no sounds, no distractions, just the electricity passing between the cells of their hands, and as their eyes met it was as though no one else on the planet existed but the two of them.

Molly tried to remember to breathe. This . . . whatever it was, it was the last thing she had expected to happen. It had never happened to her with anyone else, and that it should happen with him . . .

And he was taken by surprise, too. His eyes—so large and soulful to begin with—got even wider. "I think," he said quietly, "that we _must_ do this again."

The waiter—damn his pleasant, smiling face—came back to collect the bill and his pen, leaving her to wonder exactly what Dan meant by "this."

A moment later, they were outside the restaurant, and Dan's driver was holding open the door to his SUV for them.

Molly climbed in, tentatively, not sure how the evening was going to end. Dan climbed in after her. "So, where are we going—I mean, where do you live?" he stammered.

Molly gave the driver her address and he pulled away from the curb. There was a moment of silence as they both tried to think of something clever to say. And then they both spoke at the same time.

"Do you—"

"Thank you—"

Dan, flustered, laughed, breathing hard. "Sorry—you first."

"Oh, um, I just wanted to thank you for dinner. I had a really nice time."

"So did I." His hand somehow reached hers, and he took it, his fingers lightly brushing her skin. Molly shivered.

"Yeah, me, too. I already said that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." He seemed amused, but then he glanced furtively at the driver and sighed.

And all the time the car was moving through the streets, Molly couldn't help thinking, _What was he about to say . . . when I interrupted him?_

But as she tried to think of a way to start the conversation over, the car pulled up in front of her building. And stopped. She looked at Dan, and smiled tentatively. His hand was still resting lightly on top of hers.

"I suppose it's time to say good night," he said, regret in his voice. "But . . . I was wondering. Do you . . . like Central Park?"

"What?" This was not what she had been expecting to hear. "Umm . . . well, yes . . . but—"

"Would you like to go for a walk with me on Thursday? I'm sorry it can't be tomorrow, but I've got two shows on Wednesdays, so . . ."

Molly thought quickly. Thursday. She had to work on Thursday, but she could take the day off. "Yes. I'd love to."

"Okay, then. Good. Why don't I come by around eleven?"

"Okay." The driver came around and opened the door. Dan jumped out and Molly followed.

"Let me walk you inside," he said, completely confident.

"Thank you. Such a gentleman."

Now he smiled shyly and looked down at the ground, his self-assurance momentarily shattered. Then he took Molly's hand. It was small and soft in his, and he liked that.

They walked slowly to the entrance and stopped at the door. Molly had her key out, and inside the building the doorman watched, but Molly stayed put.

"I guess I'll see you Thursday," she said quietly.

"Yes," he whispered, then leaned in.

Molly realized she was holding her breath as he got closer. _He's so near . . ._

He lifted her hand up to his lips, brushing them so gently over her skin, if she hadn't actually been watching him do it, she'd have sworn she was imagining it all. Then he looked up at her, his eyes shining with amusement.

"I believe that's what a gentleman would do."

And then he let go of her hand slowly, almost reluctantly, his eyes never leaving hers, and started walking backward towards the SUV, slipping his hands into his pockets.

She watched him go, wishing she had the nerve to call him back—but she shouldn't, really, she told herself. _You'll see him Thursday._ She felt a quiet flutter in her chest as it sank in: _You'll see him again. Soon._

"Good night," Molly whispered.

 

End of Chapter One  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel and Molly go on their first date - to Central Park. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A young New Yorker named Molly O'Connor literally runs into Daniel Radcliffe while they are both out running. He is living in NYC while appearing in Equus on Broadway, and the two are attracted to each other right from the start, even though she is older than he and not sure it's a good idea to get involved with a famous actor. But they cannot resist the attraction; they start dating, and are soon involved in a passionate relationship, spending as much time together as they can. They fall deeply in love, and when Daniel eventually has to go home. . . . how can this possibly end well?
> 
>  
> 
> This is a multi-chapter work that begins with a PG rating, and turns into an Explicit rating fairly quickly.

**_CHAPTER 2_**  
  
  
Having just finished two shows and knowing he had to be fresh and alert for his date with Molly tomorrow, Dan politely declined Anna's invitation to join her and her fiancé for a late dinner. Instead, he returned home with his dad and immediately headed for the shower. He was tired but satisfied, both shows receiving standing ovations.

He had been so focused on the work all day that it was only now, with the hot spray pouring over his body, that he was finally able to think about tomorrow. His lips spread into a slow smile as he thought about Molly, about his conversation with her. But then a voice began nagging in the back of his mind. Gary's voice.

When Dan was filming _Potter_ 3, Gary Oldman sat him down for a little man-to-man talk. Granted, Dan was only 13 at the time, but Gary never treated him like a child. He was very blunt with him, and now he remembered Gary's words very clearly: "Dan, girls are going to want to date you because of who you are. Whatever you do, don't date a fan. It can only lead to trouble. Trust me on this. And by all means, don't have sex with them. That will most _certainly_ lead to trouble." Gary had rolled his eyes, and Dan had sensed that his mentor had more than a little experience with this particular subject.

He quickly towel-dried his hair and changed into a pair of comfortable pajama bottoms and a clean T-shirt. Barefoot, he made his way to the main room of the large apartment he shared with his father. Alan had just finished making a couple of sandwiches for them to snack on while they watched television. Alan handed Dan his sandwich and then sat down, settling in to watch the usual Discovery channel fare his son seemed to find relaxing at the end of the day. A moment later, he looked over to see Dan staring, not at the TV screen, but out the window, his thoughts obviously focused on a place very far away from this room. And his sandwich was untouched.

Alan tilted his head, waiting, but after several minutes Dan was still very much somewhere else. Alan frowned, a little puzzled. Dan had seemed his normal self all day, had obviously been pleased with how both performances had gone, but now something seemed to be bothering him.

He supposed he would just have to be patient until Dan was ready to share whatever was on his mind. And he was sure Dan would; they had very few secrets, really. Somehow he had always been able to strike a balance between respecting his son's privacy and making him aware that he was always there if and when Dan needed him. Sighing quietly, Alan picked up his glass of wine and tried to focus on the television screen.

The movement brought Dan back into focus, and he began to pick at the food on his plate. "Dad," he began, "I'm going to go out for a bit tomorrow, if that's all right with you."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "It's fine with me. I know you would stay in if you thought you were tired enough to need a rest. Where are you off to, then? Central Park again?" Alan smiled as he remembered all the impassioned tales Dan had told him after spending hours people-watching in the huge park. It really had become Dan's favourite part of the city; he was sure his son was going to miss it dearly when they went back home.

"Yes." He hesitated and scratched the scruff lining his jaw. "But I'm not going alone. I've asked that girl I met the other day. Molly."

Alan paused, his wine glass halfway to his lips. He sighed, and set it down again.

"Molly—the young woman I delivered the ticket to on Tuesday night. The two of you went out for dinner afterwards, right? Well . . . she must have made quite an impression on you, then." He looked over at Dan, a question plain in his eyes.

Dan met his father's gaze and swallowed. Somehow, his father always knew when something was on his mind. And he was the one person Dan could talk to about anything. Now, however, he wasn't sure how his father would react. "She's really nice. And very easy to talk to." He brought a hand to his mouth and began to chew a nail, then quickly stopped, remembering what his mother thought about this habit. "Do you—do you think it's a bad idea?"

Alan took a swallow out of his wine glass before replying. "That's not a simple question to answer, son. If you told me you were going to go out with one of the women who stand screaming 'I love you, Dan!' at the security barricade every night, I think we might need to talk." He gave Dan a lock of mock sternness. "But I know you would never do something like that," he continued, smiling gently. "You met this woman literally by accident; she wouldn't have even been at the theatre if you hadn't made it happen. And while, sadly, it's always a bit of a risk for you to just follow an impulse, especially when it comes to dating, I would have to say . . ." Alan paused for a moment, considering his words, then sighed heavily again. "I had a good feeling about her, just talking to her for a few minutes as I did.

"But never mind me. I think you have to ask yourself the question, really: does it feel like a bad idea to _you_? Are you sorry you asked her out already? Or are you looking forward to seeing her again?"

Dan looked down at the plate that was still sitting in his lap and smiled, heat rising in his cheeks. "Yes, I am." He glanced back at his father. Everything he said made perfect sense. It was HIS decision to make. But he still needed to hear what his father thought. "She's so easy to talk to. And she's not really a fan. She barely knew who I was. I liked that. I feel like I can be myself around her."

"That sounds to me like a good place to start."

Alan tried not to look too relieved at his son's words. He had been a little worried when this conversation started, but looking at the shy smile on Dan's face, he felt reassured that this Molly was likely not someone he would have to worry about. He'd always been able to read people fairly well, and Dan seemed to have inherited that trait from him; it wasn't easy to fool him. And Alan could see the genuine anticipation on Dan's face when he thought about seeing Molly again.

"I wouldn't be your father if I didn't say, 'Be careful.' But it sounds as if you know what you're getting into, and I hope you have a wonderful time with Molly. Is she a native New Yorker?"

"No. She moved here after university, but she seems to know the city pretty well." He suddenly realized he hadn't actually asked Molly her age, and he hoped this wouldn't bother his father. Dan had dated older girls before, and that never seemed to bother his parents. He was much more comfortable around older people in general, and Molly was no exception. In fact, it wasn't until this moment that he'd thought about the age difference at all.

Alan tried not to smile. Of course—she was older. Dan never seemed to be attracted to girls his own age; he was, Alan had to admit, too old for them. He could tell by the look on Dan's face at the moment that he was just a bit nervous Alan might object to this development, but really, he had gotten used to Dan's preference for mature women long ago. Didn't mean he wouldn't take the mickey out of him for it occasionally, though.

"After university, eh?" He didn't say anything else for a moment, and then took his time having another sip of wine before continuing. "Well, if she knows the city well, maybe she'll be able to introduce you to a part of the park you haven't seen yet, then. Do you have any definite plans, or are you just going to wander?"

Dan put his untouched plate on the coffee table and began to pick at an invisible thread on his trousers. "I think we'll just wander. Talk. Is that all right, do you think, or do you think I should take her someplace special?" His father didn't seem to mind the fact that he was going to spend time with a stranger or that she was older, and that put him a little at ease. Only now that he started to talk about the date, he realized he was just a little nervous about it.

Alan's smile faded a little. Someplace 'special'? He noticed then that Dan seemed a little worried. This young woman definitely _had_ made a strong impression on him, it seemed.

"Dan, it's a first date, really. I'd say, don't worry about going someplace 'special.' If you get along and have a nice time together, that's special enough for now. Finding someone you can talk to, and be yourself with is a wonderful thing, but I'd just wait and see how things develop tomorrow. Just enjoy yourself."

Dan nodded. It was good advice. Maybe he was over-thinking it. For a while, they sat quietly, finally returning their attention to the documentary on TV. Soon, Dan's eyelids grew heavy and he excused himself and went to bed.

Morning came, an unseasonably mild autumn day. Dan showered quickly and dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He debated wearing a cap—he usually wore one when he went out on the streets of New York to foil photographers, but he didn't feel like covering himself today. He wanted Molly to feel at ease with him, not like she was part of someone's entourage.

He packed up his messenger bag with a few books that he always carried and his cell phone, just in case his father needed to get in touch with him, grabbed his leather jacket, and headed out. His father was already up, reading the paper. He looked up when Dan entered the room.

"Leaving?"

"Yes."

"Just be back before five, all right?"

"Yes. And, Dad? Thank you."

Alan smiled. "You're welcome. Have fun."

Dan nodded, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left.

Out on the sidewalk, he hailed a cab and directed the driver to Molly's apartment. From there, it was only a few blocks to the park. He noticed a Starbuck's on the corner, so he ducked in, figuring the least he could do was bring her coffee. He didn't know which kind she preferred, so he bought several different kinds and carried the cardboard tray to her building. Balancing the tray in one hand, he opened the door with the other, being careful not to spill anything. Inside, the doorman eyed him cautiously, but then relaxed when he realized that Dan was no threat.

Dan smiled and greeted the man, then gave him Molly's name. He felt his stomach flutter when the doorman buzzed Molly's apartment and told Dan to go on up. _Here we go,_ he thought.

 

******  


 

  
Molly threw her keys down on the little table beside her front door and then glanced at the clock. _Damn!_ Only an hour till Dan was due to pick her up. She'd been about ready to shove one whiny, overly picky middle-aged man out of the line at Zabar's; if not for him, she was sure she would have been home ten minutes ago.

She'd decided that, while she was out for her morning run, she should pick up some bagels. It was hard to know what to do for a date at eleven o'clock in the morning, but a typical, if late, New York breakfast could hardly go wrong—right? Once she finally got to the front of the line, Molly had picked out four bagels—a nice selection, but not too many—and asked for butter and cream cheese on the side. It might be a little awkward, trying to put together bagel and _schmear_ on a park bench, but it would give them something to do while they got used to each other again.

Sighing, she tossed the paper bag onto her kitchen counter and headed for the shower. Getting used to each other again. Not for the first time, she was feeling a little nervous about this "date" with Dan. The other night, it had been _so_ easy to talk to him, and when he'd touched her hand . . . she'd never had that kind of feeling from a first touch before. He'd literally taken her breath away. Only now, she was wondering if that was a good thing. Should she just go with that, see where it took them? Or should she put it down to the intensity, and the novelty, of the situation, and not expect it to happen a second time?

And he _was_ younger than her, by a few years; that was hard to remember when she was looking into his eyes, and talking to him. Did it really matter? Part of her thought so; part of her couldn't wait to see him again. That second part put a pleased little smile on her face as she picked up the blow dryer to style her short, slightly choppy red hair.

Soon Molly was standing in front of the mirror, taking a final inventory of her appearance, with ten minutes to go before Dan was due. She never wore much in the way of makeup, just a touch of mascara and a whisper of lip gloss. Jeans—her favourite Lucky Brand button flies—and a favourite Oxford cloth shirt with a tiny flower pattern on a cocoa-brown background. It looked good with her hair and complexion. She tilted her head, frowning for a moment at the funky copper earrings that dangled from her earlobes; were they a bit too much, with this shirt? She decided she didn't care; _she_ liked them, so what else mattered? _Will he?_ a little voice whispered, and Molly shook her head hard, dismissing the thought.

 _It's a first date—and not likely to really go anywhere further, so it doesn't really matter what he likes, does it?_ But sure enough, Molly found herself suppressing a little grin as she tried to decide—from just one encounter with him—if he was the type to like "funky" or not. The buzzer sounded, making her jump. _He's early._

 

End of Chapter 2  


 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Molly's first date in Central Park - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A young New Yorker named Molly O'Connor literally runs into Daniel Radcliffe while they are both out running. He is living in NYC while appearing in Equus on Broadway, and the two are attracted to each other right from the start, even though she is older than he and not sure it's a good idea to get involved with a famous actor. But they cannot resist the attraction; they start dating, and are soon involved in a passionate relationship, spending as much time together as they can. They fall deeply in love, and when Daniel eventually has to go home. . . . how can this possibly end well?
> 
>  
> 
> This is a multi-chapter work that begins with a PG rating, and turns into an Explicit rating fairly quickly.

**_CHAPTER 3_**  
  
  
Molly took a deep breath and pressed the intercom button.

"Yes, John?"

Her doorman's voice, slightly distorted, came through the speaker. "Good morning, Miss Molly. There is a . . . Mr. Radcliffe here to see you. Shall I send him up?"

Another deep breath. "Yes, please do—thanks."

"No problem, Miss Molly."

She turned and looked around the apartment quickly; not that they were staying, but she wanted it to look neat. Suddenly, unaccountably, she had an image of him sitting at her dining room table, watching her cook. She loved cooking for people, puttering around in the kitchen.

 _Stop being so silly,_ she told herself. _It's a first date, remember? Who says he's ever going to be here again?_ But Molly couldn't keep herself from smiling as she opened her front door and poked her head out into the hallway, listening to the elevator grind its way up to her floor. She bit down on her bottom lip when the elevator door opened, and when he stepped out, Molly felt, all at once, very shy.

"Hi," she said quietly.

As he exited the elevator, Dan gave an awkward little wave and replied, "Hi." He was just getting used to Americans and the informal familiarity with which they seemed to relate to one another. He resisted the urge to reach out his hand and shake hers, and that made him feel even more awkward.

As he got closer, though, he remembered that he had been waiting for this moment since last night, waiting to see Molly again. And her smile put him at ease. "I hope it's all right that I came up," he said quietly, when he reached the door. "If you're not ready, I can wait out here."

Molly blinked. Was anyone really _that_ formal, _that_ polite anymore? But then she remembered him kissing her hand the other night. He wasn't like anyone else she knew—and she liked that.

"No, you don't have to wait in the hallway," she said gently, her smile becoming warmer. "But I'll just be a minute; have to get my jacket." Then she noticed what he had in his hand. "Oh! You brought coffee—a lot of it, too! Thank you! How did you know I'm a coffee addict? And . . ." Molly gestured toward her small kitchen. "I got some bagels. I thought," she hesitated, "um, I thought it might be nice to start out with a little breakfast in the park, if that's okay?"

"Yes, that would be great," Dan replied, peering inside the small but clean and comfortable-looking apartment. He remained at the entrance, though, so as not to appear too presumptuous. It would be better to get to know one another on neutral territory.

"I didn't know what kind you like, so I brought an assortment. I discovered a rather fantastic cinnamon latte."

"Oh, I _love_ cinnamon! It's one of my favourite spices."

She leaned into her closet and grabbed a light denim jacket, noting how he stayed just inside the door, even after her invitation. It was very sweet, really . . .

Grabbing the sack of bagels in one hand, Molly scooped up her keys with the other and nodded toward the hallway. "Let's go, then! If we walk straight over to the park from here, we'll be fairly close to Turtle Pond—it's one of my favourite spots. I'm sure we can find a bench there, and enjoy the sun a bit while we have our breakfast." She locked the door behind them once they were in the hall, and led the way back to the elevator.

The whole time Molly was speaking, Dan fixed her with his eyes. He watched the way she moved, quickly and energetically, the way she swung her head around to talk to him while she reached into the closet. He wondered if she was nervous, if that's why she was speaking so quickly. He made a note to himself to try to put her at ease. He was used to people being awkward around him, but he sensed it was different with Molly. She wasn't nervous because he was famous. It was something else. At least, he secretly hoped it was.

"I don't think I've been there yet," Dan said, moving aside to let her pass and following her out into the hall. When the elevator arrived, he held his arm out and gestured for her to go first.

Molly stepped inside, and was quiet for a minute. _Damn._ She'd felt almost like she was babbling for a minute there. _He actually does make me nervous,_ she thought, _but in a good way. Excited nervous._ She really was very happy to see him again, and hoped he felt the same way. She'd noticed him watching her, so . . . maybe he did. That thought made her smile.

After a bit, Molly looked over at him, and cleared her throat. "So . . . what's your best spot in the park, then?"

"Um." Dan looked at the numbers on the panel for a moment and then back at Molly. He was starting to feel warm in this enclosed space. "I think . . . I suppose I would have to say the Great Lawn, because you can watch so many people at once. It's fantastic, really. One minute you'll see a group of kids playing ball or something, and the next somebody will walk by, juggling fruit!"

"Oh, that's the best thing about Central Park, isn't it? People really _live_ there! Do you have a favorite park like it, back home?"

Dan thought for a moment. "There's a park near where I live, and there's a cricket field. Do you know cricket?" The elevator reached the ground floor, and Dan put his hand out instinctively to hold the door open and allow Molly to exit first.

Molly smiled, then walked out ahead of him and through the lobby; a minute later they were on the street and headed east. "Umm . . . I have to confess, I don't. Is it anything like baseball?"

Dan feigned shock and then chuckled. "No, it's not anything like baseball. In some ways, it's more complex, more . . . how shall I put it . . . dramatic." He drew this last word out for emphasis. He wanted to describe the game to her, to tell her why he was so passionate about it, but feared it would just bore her. So instead, he turned the conversation to her. "Do you like sports?"

Molly sensed he was restraining himself from going on and on about something he really loved—which she found very endearing. In fact, so far, he was just as wonderful as she'd remembered from the other night—which she found slightly scary. They'd only been together for five minutes, and already she had a silly smile permanently plastered on her face, just from seeing him again. _Careful, you,_ she scolded herself.

And then, before she could stop herself: "I'm not crazy about sports, but I think actually playing them is more fun than watching them. Maybe I need to try cricket."

Dan cocked his head to the side and studied her expression. Was she teasing him, he wondered. "You're the first girl who's said that. Most of the girls I know have no interest."

Molly blushed; he'd called her on it. As soon as the words left her mouth, she'd hoped he would just laugh and tell her there was no cricket going on in New York. She didn't _really_ want to hear about cricket, anyway; what she wanted was to see his eyes light up like that again.

"Well, I couldn't promise that I'd love it—but I'm curious. Maybe you could explain it to me while we eat, just a little?"

They had reached the park and entered at 81st Street. As Dan led her down a winding path, he replied, "Do you really want to know, or are you just being polite? Because I really can spend hours talking about cricket."

Molly sighed; she felt as if he had caught her in a lie somehow. Not really a lie, but . . . She pointed him to the right, toward the path that would lead them to the edge of Turtle Pond, and then—hesitating for a moment—she put her hand lightly on his arm.

"Honestly, Dan? I . . . I can tell you love talking about it, and that makes me want to hear more."

Heat rose in Dan's cheeks, and for a moment he was flustered. He had been in this country long enough to know that Americans could be very physical, but Molly's touch was unexpected and not unwelcome. "All right," he said, smiling. "If you REALLY want to know . . ."

And he began a long diatribe about the merits of cricket and why everyone should be a fan. Before long, they reached Turtle Pond. Dan stopped mid-sentence and his mouth fell open. "Wow, this is amazing." He gazed at the still water. Across the way sat Belvedere Castle. A smattering of people sat around the pond, and nannies chased their charges across the lawn. "Do you come here often?"

"Oh, yes, a lot. Sometimes I'll come sit here with my coffee after a run, just to relax. Watch the kids who come to play and—at the right time of year—see what the turtles are up to. I'm not really much of a 'nature' girl, but I've always been kind of—" Molly looked at Dan sideways. "You'll probably think this is weird, but . . . I like turtles. There's something about them . . . they seem sad, but very wise."

Dan looked over the pond, then back at Molly. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight and her face was glowing with enthusiasm. "You mean—there are really turtles in that pond? That's fantastic!" He admired her sensitivity. Most of the girls he knew were materialistic and shallow. _She likes turtles,_ he thought to himself, and made a mental note.

"Oh, yes!" Molly was really warming to the subject now. "The pond was originally named after the castle"—she pointed to the hill on the other side, where a miniature castle stood—" _belvedere_ , beautiful view, but so many turtles and birds started living here, they renamed it and—"

She stopped suddenly and blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to give you a history lesson. I'm kind of a nut for Central Park, I'm afraid, not to mention a trivia addict." Embarrassed, Molly started looking for a bench so they could sit.

Dan spotted a vacant patch of lawn and pointed. "Why don't we sit here?" he suggested. "I'm really interested in hearing the history of this place. I've heard so many stories, and it seems like they never end." He dropped down, somehow managing to balance the coffee tray without spilling anything.

Molly sat down beside him and opened the bag, taking out some napkins to spread on the grass and then fussing with the bagels. "Now I have to ask _you_ if you're just being polite! You really like history? Because I could spend hours talking about the park." She laughed and then took one of the cinnamon lattes before she started to tell him about the castle, and made sure he saw the Delacorte Theater, which was over to the right of the pond.

Dan gaped, fascinated by each morsel of information she was feeding him. He munched on his breakfast, nodding and interjecting a question now and then, but basically let Molly talk. He soon began to relax, and when he was finished eating he sat back, propping himself on his arms, and studied her face. She was the kind of pretty that's completely natural. The only makeup she wore was a little eyeliner and lip gloss. Light freckles dusted her cheeks. But Dan wasn't just physically attracted to Molly; she had a way of drawing him in, making him want to learn more and more about her.

"That's really cool," he said, in response to her revelation about some of the historical figures who had walked the park in past centuries. But before he could ask another question, a shadow fell across his face, and he looked up to see two girls staring down at him. They looked to be in their early twenties.

"Are you . . . are you Daniel Radcliffe?" one of them asked quickly.

"Oh, my gosh, it is!" her friend screeched before Dan could answer.

 _Here we go,_ Dan thought to himself. He remained calm and simply nodded. He glanced apologetically at Molly. The two girls gave another squeal, and before he knew what was happening, one of them knelt beside him while the other took out her cell phone.

"Do you mind taking a picture?"

"No, not at all," Dan replied quietly, knowing he really had no choice, and wanting to draw as little attention as possible.

So the girls took their pictures, and Dan smiled and shook their hands, and as they scurried off, still squealing, he turned to Molly and said, "I'm so sorry about that."

Molly watched curiously as Dan interacted with the two giggly girls; he was so calm and kind to them throughout their invasion of his time. He handled it well, but what must it be like to have to deal with that regularly—maybe even on a daily basis? She couldn't even imagine.

But once again, his graciousness touched her, because she could see it wasn't just something he was doing to impress _her_. It was just part of who he was, and all the more endearing for that. She had been a teensy bit annoyed when the girls came up and interrupted them, but now she felt petty for that. With just a few words and a few moments of his time, Dan had made those girls' day, probably even their week. _If he can be patient with them, I certainly can._ Molly tried not to remember the slightly dirty look the girl with the cell phone had thrown her way.

Lost in her thoughts, Molly started slightly when Dan spoke to her.

"Oh, no, it's okay—I'm fine! But . . . isn't that a little strange for you, when that happens? Do you ever have any real privacy?"

Dan got quiet for a moment. He wasn't used to talking about this aspect of his life with "outsiders." _But Molly wasn't really an outsider now, was she?_ Dan asked himself.

He was annoyed that she was put in this position, but he also knew that if he continued to see her (and that desire was growing by the minute) she would have to get used to this.

"Um, yes, when I want to be alone, I make sure to go places no one knows about. And I keep my personal life to myself. The paparazzi here are very different from the ones in London. They're much more intrusive there. Here, I can come and go as I please most of the time." He paused and looked around. No one else had seemed to notice the encounter, which was a relief. "I'm really sorry about that. Do you want to go for a walk?" Dan figured if they got moving, there would be less chance of someone recognizing him and therefore interrupting the wonderful time he was having with Molly.

"Oh, yes, let's walk!" Molly gathered up the bag and napkins from their breakfast, and headed for the nearest garbage can, talking over her shoulder as she went. "I can show you some of my other favorite spots, if you want. We're right above the Ramble here—that's the wild part of the park, all windy paths and trees and lots of rocks. You'd swear you were in a forest, not the middle of a city. Sometimes you can walk there for quite a while without seeing another soul." She turned and looked at him, giving him a shy little smile. "A little privacy, away from the 'madding crowd,' you know?"

The more she thought about it, the more Molly realized she liked the idea of a little quiet time with Dan, all to herself. She turned and started to lead the way around the pond, hoping he didn't think she was being too forward, hoping he liked the idea of time alone with her as much. She hadn't been on a "first date" in quite a while, and the suspense, wondering where it would all lead, was making her a little nervous. She really liked him, liked talking to him, listening to him talk—and those beautiful blue eyes of his didn't help the nervousness any.

Dan followed eagerly, glad Molly knew her way around the park so they could find some privacy. She was right—even in a city this large, in this part of the park you could almost forget you were in New York. As much as he didn't want to go there, it was almost . . . enchanted. He grinned to himself; if Molly could see his face now, she'd catch him rolling his eyes.

When they first set out on the path, Molly was ahead of Dan, and he couldn't help but notice how the jeans she wore clung tightly to her figure, how they enhanced the shape of her bottom. _So she wasn't just smart and pretty . . . she was sexy,_ Dan thought. He tried to distract himself by gazing around at the flora and fauna surrounding them.

"This is . . . fantastic," Dan remarked, when they crested an outcropping of rocks. He stopped and looked around. They were completely alone, and the only sounds came from the rustle of squirrels as they foraged for nuts among the dried leaves on the ground.

Molly lifted her arms over her head, took in a deep breath, and pushed it out in a huge, exaggerated sigh, letting her arms float slowly back down to her sides. "Isn't it, though? If you close your eyes, and just concentrate on what's right beside you, you can barely hear the traffic." She did just that, and realized that it was so quiet, one of the things she could hear was Dan's breathing. That was certainly distracting enough to make her forget the city sounds.

She let herself enjoy his nearness for a moment before she opened her eyes and smiled at him. "I'm glad you suggested coming here today. I usually come here alone, to think and dream and . . . whatever. It's kind of nice to have someone to share it with—no one I know loves the park the way I do."

"I do," Dan said, sighing. "It's one of the things I love most about this city." He fixed his eyes on her smile. Her whole face lit up when she smiled. "What do you dream about, if you don't mind my asking?"

Molly looked over at the squirrels, still busy with their hunt for winter supplies. She shrugged her shoulders, and laughed lightly. "Well . . . I have a perfectly wonderful job—I work in publishing, I'm an editor—and I love it. But . . . I have two sort of secret passions. One, I love to travel. I don't get to do it as often as I'd like, but sometimes I come here and make plans about places I'd like to see."

She paused, and sighed. "The other passion is more what I dream about." Molly ducked her head and then looked up at him, a little self-conscious. "I was an art history major, in college. Useful, eh? But sometimes, I think I'd like to try painting—not just writing about art, but creating it. Watercolors, something delicate, and in a . . . different sort of style. Interpreting what I see, rather than just recording it. I sit in the woods here, and I imagine how I would paint the trees." She scuffed her toe in a pile of leaves. "But I'd probably be horrible at it. The world doesn't need another bad artist."

"How do you know you'd be bad at it if you've never tried it? I'd never acted before, so I didn't know whether I'd be any good at it. But then I tried it and loved it."

Molly shoved some other leaves into a pile with one foot, then scattered them again. He made it sound so easy, but she knew what he meant, and he was only saying out loud what she'd told herself a million times.

"Dreaming is only good up to a point, isn't it? Then you have to make your dreams real. What would be the worst that could happen?" Molly laughed. "Guess I need to get myself to an art supply store, and find out, right?"

Then she shook her head. "But for now, come on—we haven't explored even _half_ of the Ramble yet! Oh!" She stopped and frowned. "How much time do you have? I mean, you have a performance tonight, right?"

"Yes, I do." Dan looked at Molly quizzically. She was so quick to turn the attention back on him, yet there was so much more he'd like to learn about her. "I don't have to be home until 5:00." He opened his bag and pulled out his cell phone to check the time. "We have plenty of time. Where to next?"

"Let's head toward the lake." Molly took a few steps, then turned back suddenly—so suddenly she almost bumped into Dan. "Oh! Sorry!" She laughed at her own clumsiness. "I just wanted to say, thanks—for not thinking my dream was strange. I've never shared it with anyone before—not sure why, or even why I told you now. Maybe I just knew, somehow, you'd understand."

Molly looked at him for a moment, and before she could lose her nerve, she reached down and squeezed his hand lightly. "Come on," she said softly, and let his fingers slide out of her own as she turned back to the path, moving quickly ahead of him.

Dan tried to speak but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. She touched him so quickly, he almost wasn't sure it happened, and when she released his hand, he felt . . . disappointment. And when she moved away from him, he had this sudden urge to reach out and stop her, to pull her close again.

"Wait! Molly!" he called out, jogging to catch up to her. He smiled to himself. He was enjoying the challenge. It had been a while since he was around someone he was genuinely interested in. His father's advice came drifting through his mind, but he also had a feeling his dad would understand.

Up ahead was an archway, secluded and shaded.

Stopping just inside a tall, narrow stone archway that stretched over the path, Molly turned back, waiting for him. She watched Dan jog toward her; he had a smile on his face, and she felt a little flutter in her chest as he came closer to her. "What—did you think you were going to lose me?" she said, teasing him.

"You're really fast. Were you trying to lose me?" he teased back. They were now in the shadows of the archway, out of sight of any passersby.

"No, not at all," she said quietly. "I was hoping you'd catch me."

Dan took a step closer. For some reason, he was feeling bold. Impulsive. He knew this was probably a stupid thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. He really liked Molly. He was attracted to her. And he was wanting very much to . . .

"Oh, really?" he said haughtily. "Were you perhaps hoping for anything else?" He was now mere inches from Molly, and he gently took both of her hands in his.

Molly took a quick breath in. His hands were so warm, his touch so gentle, but still firm. She swallowed hard. She probably shouldn't be doing this, but . . .

"I don't know—what did you have in mind, sir?" she answered him, just as playful. She looked straight into his eyes, making sure he could see her excitement, and anticipation.

Dan gazed into her eyes and swallowed. His voice came out quietly as he replied, "Just this . . ." and he leaned in to kiss her.

Molly closed her eyes just as Dan's lips touched hers— _so softly_ —and she leaned in toward him, too. Her knees felt wobbly; his kiss, just like his touch the other night, made her forget to breathe. _It wasn't a fluke, that first night,_ she managed to think. _He really does make me feel this way._

Dan didn't realize how good it would feel to kiss Molly until he actually did it. He didn't plan it. He wasn't sure he'd had any intention of kissing her today, but now that he was doing it, he knew it was the right thing to do. He knew he _wanted_ it. Her lips were soft and moist, and she didn't tense up. He parted his lips ever so slightly, closing his mouth over Molly's again and again.

Molly's fingers twined themselves around Dan's, holding onto him tighter as he kissed her—carefully, lightly, over and over again. Molly had to fight the impulse to open her lips against his and welcome him into a deeper caress. It would feel so wonderful, she knew it would . . . but they couldn't. Not here . . . not yet . . . she couldn't . . .

A dog began barking madly somewhere on the other side of the arch, and Molly started, pulling back from Dan and regretting the loss of his kiss all in one moment. She pulled in a deep breath, and gave him a shaky smile. Then she reached out and brushed his cheek, a barely-there stroke of her fingertips.

"That was _exactly_ what I was hoping for," Molly whispered. "But maybe . . . it's time to see a little bit more of the park?"

Dan was both disappointed and relieved. He didn't want things to get too heavy all at once. There would be time for more later, he thought. Or hoped. A bit flustered, he scratched the back of his neck and then his cheek. "Um, yes, I suppose we should," he said, his voice slightly raspy. He cleared his throat and stepped back, just as a jogger appeared with a dog on a leash, leading him through the archway and right past Dan and Molly. Dan watched as the jogger went on his way, completely oblivious that he had just run right by a famous movie star. "Where does this go, anyway?" Dan asked, pointing at the other side of the archway.

Molly tried not to think of what it would have been like to go on kissing him as she peered through the arch and studied the path beyond. _Plenty of time for that,_ she told herself, _later_. Molly turned back to look at Dan, and thought, _Please, let there be a later._ She bit her lip and then pointed.

"If we follow this path and stay within sight of the lake, we'll see a good part of the Ramble still, and end up at Bow Bridge, I think. And not too far from Bethesda Fountain, either. They're both great places for people-watching. Come on." She smiled at him again. This time she didn't run ahead, but stayed right at his side as they strolled down the trail.

  
End of Chapter 3  


 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Molly's first date in Central Park - Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A young New Yorker named Molly O'Connor literally runs into Daniel Radcliffe while they are both out running. He is living in NYC while appearing in Equus on Broadway, and the two are attracted to each other right from the start, even though she is older than he and not sure it's a good idea to get involved with a famous actor. But they cannot resist the attraction; they start dating, and are soon involved in a passionate relationship, spending as much time together as they can. They fall deeply in love, and when Daniel eventually has to go home. . . . how can this possibly end well?
> 
>  
> 
> This is a multi-chapter work that begins with a PG rating, and turns into an Explicit rating fairly quickly.

**_CHAPTER 4_**  
  
  
Dan took the opportunity to regain his composure and focus on something other than kissing Molly. He had to fight the urge to hold her hand as they walked, however. Instead, he put his hands in his jacket pockets to keep from fidgeting.

Soon, Molly led them over a rise and in view of the bridge she had described. Bow Bridge was like something out of a fairy tale, all whitewashed, suspended over the murky waters of the boat pond. A few couples were rowing lazily through the water.

"This is lovely," Dan remarked. "It's so peaceful." He stopped walking and stood there, taking in the view.

Molly sighed, and nodded. Dan really seemed to understand how she felt about these special parts of the park—it was amazing, and made her feel close to him. Much more so than she would have thought on a first date. She couldn't keep a secret little smile off her face when she thought again of the feel of his lips on hers . . .

Shaking her head, Molly pushed away the distraction. _Save those memories for later._

"Peaceful, and yet there are always so many people here. I guess it's the peace that draws them." She shielded her eyes and peered for a moment at the shore of the pond. "There," she said, emphatically. "Let's go grab that bench down at the edge, before someone else gets it!"

Dan grinned at Molly's enthusiasm for something as simple as a bench. He was reminded of how possessive Americans could be, and that delighted him even more.

The bench Molly gestured toward was enclosed in an open shelter made entirely from wood. It looked like it had been in the spot for decades, and Dan imagined that many couples had sat in this shelter throughout the years. In fact, when they reached it, Dan could see initials carved here and there.

Of course, with the bench being partially hidden, Dan wondered if Molly had an ulterior motive for bringing him here.

Molly knelt on the seat of the little shelter and leaned out over the railing. "This is a great spot," she said quietly, looking out over the pond. "You can watch the world go by, yet it still feels a little secluded, private."

She turned, wanting to tell him something about the bridge, and noticed he was looking at the log posts of the shelter. Molly tried to see what it was, and realized he was looking at some of the initials that had been carved there over the years.

"I've never understood why people have to do that," she said, gesturing at the chipped-out letters and frowning. "We'll never really know who they are, and I can think of better ways to show someone you care about them." Molly paused, looked at Dan, and felt a slight blush rise in her cheeks. "Sorry—that sounds very judgmental, doesn't it? Not very romantic, either." She looked away, slightly embarrassed.

"No, it's just that . . . I think perhaps they just want to leave their mark. It's their way of letting everyone know that they'd been here—something permanent, I think. I find it rather romantic, in a way." He turned to Molly and asked, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Tell me, have you ever done anything like this? Anything at all?"

"Obviously not, if I can be so mean about it!" Molly managed to laugh, but she still felt awkward. "The way you explain it," she said softly, "I _can_ understand the impulse. But, no—I've never wanted to do anything like this." She gestured at the carved initials, and then, arching an eyebrow, asked, "What about you?"

Dan licked his lips and leaned back. "Maybe we should just leave that one unanswered for now," he replied with a sly grin. He wanted to leave an air of mystery. After all, he didn't know Molly that well just yet, and wasn't sure how much of his personal life he should share. He just hoped he would have a chance to tell her more. He enjoyed her company and wanted to continue seeing her.

Molly pretended to give him a severe look. "I answered _your_ question!" Then she laughed. "Never mind—you don't have to tell me." She turned back to the bench at the water's edge of the shelter and sat down. Resting her elbows on the railing, Molly looked out over the pond again and sighed as she watched a couple lazily paddling their boat, not really seeming to care if they got anywhere.

It had been a lovely day so far; she really hoped Dan was enjoying it as much as she was. If the kiss they had just shared was any indication, he seemed to be. . . . But he also seemed to be a little guarded, which puzzled her. Was he worried that someone else—like those two girls—would see and interrupt them again? Maybe he didn't want to sit still like this.

"Should we just sit for a while, and enjoy the peacefulness?" she asked, turning back toward him. "Or is there some part of the park you'd like to show me?"

Dan craned his neck to get a better look at the bridge Molly had pointed out earlier. "I'd like to see that bridge, if you don't mind." He liked the seclusion of this shelter, but he also sensed that things might be moving too fast. He noticed the couple in the boat, and now the man was standing up, making some kind of romantic gesture. "Or maybe—" Just then the boat tipped over and the man fell in the pond. His date fell back in the boat, laughing. Dan began to giggle, his body shaking in fits of laughter.

Molly stared, amazed, as Dan giggled madly, his whole body crunched up into a ball and the knuckles of his right hand almost in his mouth. "Wait, wait" she sputtered, "that—that's not _funny_!!" But she could hardly expect him to take her seriously; Molly couldn't help laughing, too, so hard she was wrapping her arms around herself as she leaned forward and almost fell off the bench, trying to hold her own giggles in. "We . . . shouldn't be . . . laughing at that . . . poor guy!" she gasped.

But it didn't matter, because the man who had fallen almost gracefully in the water was howling with laughter, too. And that somehow made Dan laugh even more. When he was finally able to compose himself, flushed and giddy, he said, "Now do you understand why I like this park so much?"

Molly tried to compose herself, snickering one last time as she nodded. "I do understand. Like I said, people really live here— _anything_ can happen!" She cleared her throat and tried to look serious. "So, you were saying you'd like to see the bridge up close?" Molly nodded her head in the direction of Bow Bridge. "Are you still interested?"

"Yes," Dan replied emphatically. He stood and held out his hand to help Molly up.

Molly took hold of his hand gently, smiled, and then let it go as she exited the shelter and headed up the path the led toward the bridge. That little bit of silliness had left her feeling very lighthearted, and she found it hard not to think of Dan's giggling as adorable. She was sure he would not appreciate the thought, somehow. Molly stole a glance at him as they walked and couldn't help grinning.

Dan smiled back, curious at her change in mood. "What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," Molly said, trying to sound cryptic. Then she laughed, spoiling the mood of mystery she had been going for completely. "I'm just having a wonderful time, that's all. Look—did you know that the bridge itself is made of cast iron, but the walkway is wood?" They were just at the edge of the bridge now, and she pointed out the sign giving the history of the structure, hoping to distract him.

"No, I didn't," Dan said, looking down in wonder at the wooden slats. "That's incredible." He ran a hand along the cold railing as they walked. "This must be a very old bridge. I wonder how many people have crossed it over the years."

"Thousands, I'm sure—at least," Molly mused as she rested her hands on the bridge and leaned over to look at the water beneath. "It _is_ an old bridge, and so beautiful, isn't it? But then, it can't be as old as some of the bridges and other places you're used to in England, I'm sure." She stared down into the pond for a moment, then looked sideways at him, her head tilted. "Do you miss home, while you're here in New York?" Then she shook her head, turning away. "Sorry—I'm being nosey. Forget I asked."

"No, it's okay," Dan said quietly, looking out at the pond and the people on the banks. The truth was, he did get homesick sometimes, and when he walked through the park, it reminded him just a little of home. "Yes, I do." Then he turned to face Molly. The sun was shining on the bridge and it was making her hair seem like it was on fire—golden red and bright and cheery. "But I also like this city. And I know I'll be going back in a few months. So for now, I'd just like to take it all in and see and experience as much as I can."

Molly felt relieved as she listened to him; he did miss home, obviously, but not so much that her comment had upset him. "Well, I think it's time we moved on, then," she said firmly, "so we can take in as much as possible of the park before you have to go. To work, I mean—today," she added.

She swung her backpack off her shoulder and pulled an obviously well-worn map out of one of its many compartments. "This," she said, excitedly waving it in the air so that it unfolded and dragged across the railing, "is the best map of the park _ever_. I've had it for years. It shows every bridge and every statue—everything that's worth seeing. Where should we go? Let's look at it and decide!"

Fascinated, Dan peered over Molly's shoulder. He had to lean a bit to get a good look, and managed to get a whiff of a slightly sweet, pleasant scent. "How long have you had this map?"

All of a sudden, Dan was so close to her, they were almost touching again. Molly felt her face grow warm as she tried to focus on the map. "Umm . . . I don't remember exactly. I bought it when I first moved here." She traced the map with her finger, trying to distract herself by searching for something familiar. "We could see if they still sell it, if you'd like one? Oh, there!" Molly tapped a certain spot decisively. "Literary Walk—and just past that, the Carousel! We _have_ to go there!" She turned to him, eyes lit up with delight.

Dan put his finger on the map next to Molly's hand. "There?" he repeated. His hand touched hers, and the warmth of her skin sent a delicious chill throughout his body. "That sounds great," he stammered. "Really great." Flustered, he took his hand away. "Um, after you?" he motioned with his arm to the other side of the bridge, where the path wound up and out of view.

Molly was determined not to think about how his hand against hers made her feel all tingly as she attempted to fold the map again. She finally gave that up, and kept it out so she could show him their route as they walked along. She led the way past Bethesda Fountain, where they paused to admire the lily pond, and the bandshell, till they were strolling down the long, broad walk known simply as the Mall. Once they reached the lower part, Literary Walk, she showed him all the statues of writers and poets that were gathered in that space, looking up the names of each one on her map.

"The Carousel is right over there!" She pointed at the path that led away from the wide walkway to the right. "On the other side of the road there—come on!" She stopped and blushed a little at her own enthusiasm, but then laughed. "I can't wait to show you!"

Dan grinned, amused by her childlike delight. Her giddiness was infectious. He had enjoyed discussing all of the writers with her—Burns, Scott, and Shakespeare—and watching the skaters at the bandshell performing tricks, and now he felt like he was five again, prancing through the park with no worries and no constrictions.

They reached the carousel—a large and very old merry-go-round that somehow didn't seem at all out of place in this city park. Music drifted from the mechanism at the center. Dan stopped, gaping. "This is . . . it's so . . . fantastic!" he exclaimed, panting.

"The first time I saw it, I wished I had lived in New York as a child—I would have been here all the time!" Molly clung to the gate at the entrance to the building that shielded the carousel and watched in awe as the brightly painted horses went round and round. "Sometimes, if there aren't too many people around, I ride it anyway." She looked over at him and rolled her eyes. "Go ahead—you can laugh if you want to."

"I won't laugh," he said, but he was smiling anyway. "I think it's charming. I probably would have begged my mum to take me here all the time, too."

"What kid wouldn't have wanted to?" Molly asked, shaking her head in disbelief. She turned back, smiling blissfully, to watch the children who were riding on the carousel. They all seemed to be having so much fun—but Molly noticed that one of them was . . . pointing in their direction. Twisted around and perched precariously on the saddle of his horse, the little boy was talking excitedly to his mother, and he kept on pointing, over and over again. Molly looked over her shoulder, not understanding, but as soon as her eyes landed on Dan, she thought, _Oh, no . . ._

Soon, other adults took notice, and a few other children pointed, until the inevitable, "Look, Mommy, it's Harry Potter!" rang out.

"Um, perhaps we should go," Dan said, realizing that if they didn't move quickly, the situation could get . . . messy. And uncomfortable, at least for Molly. And without his publicist here to corral the children, it was bound to become chaotic. Gently but with urgency, Dan put an arm around Molly's waist and steered her away, his head down and his gait determined.

"I'm sorry, Dan," Molly said quietly as she followed his lead, walking as quickly as possible without attracting any more attention. "It never occurred to me . . . but all those kids . . ." Once again, she couldn't imagine how he dealt with this kind of attention. They had been having a lovely time, and Dan was so easy to be with—she had completely forgotten how visible he was. But this narrow escape brought it home to her all over again: Dan was not just some guy she'd met at work.

Molly sighed and wondered if they would make it through the rest of the day without another incident.

"It's not your fault," Dan said quickly. He swallowed, trying to get his breath under control. "I should have known. Since I've been doing the play, I sometimes forget that some people still see me only as one character. That really hasn't happened since I've been here." He scratched the back of his neck, then looked over at Molly. "Would you like to go somewhere, perhaps get a bite to eat?"

"Oh, that's a great idea." Molly smiled at him, relieved at the suggestion. Maybe it was time to get out of the park, and just enjoy each other's company someplace quiet and a little more private—so this wouldn't happen again. But somewhere underneath the frustration of having to abandon their plans, Molly couldn't deny that she had enjoyed the feeling of his arm slipping around her waist for just that brief moment.

"I know a great little café on 68th Street, if that's okay? They have great sandwiches, and amazing pastries, too."

Dan allowed Molly to lead the way, and soon they were in a quiet spot, away from prying eyes. At this time of day, the place was hardly full, and they were able to get a table near the back. Dan ordered a simple salad and some soup, nothing too heavy since he would have to be at the theater in a few hours. He really just wanted the opportunity to talk with Molly some more, without a lot of distractions. He asked again about her interest in art. "How did you come by it?"

Molly swallowed a bite of her tuna salad sandwich. "I had a teacher in college who was in love with art, and really knew how to get people excited about it. Before then, going to a museum was just a boring school trip to me. But he would park us in front of a painting and sort of . . . take it apart for us, show us everything that made it work, and then make it whole again—if that makes sense." Her eyes gleamed as she remembered. "He introduced me to all the masters, from Rembrandt to Van Gogh to Picasso. Once I saw what _he_ saw, I couldn't get enough of paintings. And knowing how it was done—well, in theory, anyway—and understanding the intensity behind it was what made me want to try and do it myself. I just—" she paused and smiled sheepishly, "just haven't gotten around to trying yet." Molly took a sip of her iced tea. "Do you like art?"

"Oh yes. I've actually started collecting paintings." He went on to explain the artists he liked, modern artists whose paintings stirred something in him and inspired him. Before long, the conversation turned from art to music, and with every new subject Dan learned more and more about Molly, and more and more that intrigued him and made him want to learn even more about her. Long after their plates of food had been finished and removed, they were still talking, and it wasn't until their third cup of coffee that Dan realized how much time had passed.

It was 4:30 when he finally said, "I've really enjoyed spending the day with you."

Molly looked up at the clock on the wall of the café in surprise. "I can't believe it's that late already!" Over lunch and several cups of coffee, she'd got lost in conversation with Dan, and she didn't want their time to be over. He really was an amazing person—he'd experienced so much and traveled to so many places—and she felt really comfortable with him. She wanted to get to know him even better. Molly had a feeling he wanted that, too—she hoped she was right.

"It's been a wonderful day, Dan—thank you so much for suggesting it." She looked down at her empty cup and fidgeted with it for a moment. "But . . . I guess you've got to go to work soon, right?"

"Yes, I do. Let me walk you home." He paid the bill and followed Molly out onto the sidewalk. The sun was low in the sky as they walked back to her building. Dan chewed his nails nervously as they reached the entrance, but Molly didn't turn him away. They took the elevator to her floor in silence. Dan tried not to fidget, but he couldn't stop his stomach from doing flips. He wanted very badly to kiss Molly again, and only hoped he would have the opportunity. When they reached her door, he said, "Thank you for spending the day with me."

Molly tried to stay calm, but she had been feeling a fluttering in her chest ever since they got in the elevator that was hard to ignore. Now here they were, at her door—and Dan was in front of her and they were saying good-bye and she wanted so much for him to kiss her . . . and to ask her out again. Should she . . . ?

"This was one of the nicest afternoons I've spent in a long time," Molly said quietly. And then she leaned in and very gently pressed her lips against his, pulling back almost as soon as they had touched. She was still holding her breath as she watched his face, to see what he would do.

Dan was so taken by surprise that, for a moment, he couldn't breathe. American girls were so . . . forward. He couldn't believe it. And he liked it. He really liked it. "I . . . um . . ." and before he could stop himself, he put his hands on Molly's slender waist and kissed her, letting his lips linger on hers and pulling her closer.

Molly's hands came up quickly when Dan started to kiss her, and slowly, almost without realizing it, she let them rest lightly on his shoulders. His lips felt as soft and his kiss was as incredible as it had been in the park—no, even more so. Molly was amazed that he could do this to her, make her feel this way, and she'd only just met him.

He was pulling her in closer, and it felt so good, his hands on her waist . . . but Molly knew she had to be careful. It was hard to think when he was this near, but she couldn't let things go too far, not yet, and no matter how good it felt. But . . . she opened her lips slightly and caught his bottom lip between them, then let go so quickly she could hardly believe she'd dared to do it. Then she squeezed his shoulders and pulled back.

"Umm . . . mm," she mumbled, still feeling confused by what was happening inside her. "Maybe we should . . . I mean—"

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Dan said breathlessly, then kissed her quickly before either of them could stop him. "I really should go." His mind was reeling. He didn't want to leave, but knew that he couldn't be late. "Can I see you again?"

"Yes," Molly said right away; then she bit her lip and blushed. "That was . . . a little quick, wasn't it? I don't want you to think—what I mean is—" She took a deep breath before going on. "I would love to see you again, Dan."

"Good. That's good." He thought for a minute. "Are you free Sunday night?"

Molly tried to think; she had promised her friend Tess to go to a movie with her this weekend, but that was . . . yes, that was for Saturday. She smiled at Dan. "Yes, Sunday would be good."

Dan's heart felt light. "Great. I'd love to take you to dinner. Shall I pick you up at eight?"

"That sounds fine." Molly couldn't keep a huge smile from her face as she thought about seeing him again in just a few days. Then something occurred to her. "Dinner—should I dress up, then?" She looked at him, curious as to what he had in mind.

Dan had to admit, he wanted very much to see her in a dress, but he didn't want to dictate what she should wear. "Wear . . . whatever you're comfortable in." He smiled. "I really have to be going now, so . . ." He took her hand and then leaned in for a quick kiss. Any more and he wouldn't want to leave. "Bye," he said quietly, and backed toward the elevators. He was halfway there before he finally turned around. It wouldn't be very impressive if he banged into the wall or tripped over his feet. So he sauntered the rest of the way and only turned around once to wave.

The elevator arrived, and he was gone.

Molly stood outside her door, still smiling, even after the elevator door had closed. He'd waved at her before getting in . . . so sweet. She heaved a very large sigh and then dug her keys out of her backpack and let herself into her apartment. It only took her three tries, she was that distracted. Once she was inside, Molly leaned against the door, and carefully put her fingers to her lips. In another three days, she was certain she would feel his kiss again—and she couldn't wait.

Humming to herself, Molly kicked off her shoes, flopped down on the sofa, and started to think about what she could wear on Sunday. Something Dan would _really_ like . . .


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are beginning to get interesting between Dan and Molly: Dan talks to his father about his possible feelings, there are more phone calls between the two, and their first formal dinner date - and first kiss - happen almost before they realize how hard they're falling for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A young New Yorker named Molly O'Connor literally runs into Daniel Radcliffe while they are both out running. He is living in NYC while appearing in Equus on Broadway, and the two are attracted to each other right from the start, even though she is older than he and not sure it's a good idea to get involved with a famous actor. But they cannot resist the attraction; they start dating, and are soon involved in a passionate relationship, spending as much time together as they can. They fall deeply in love, and when Daniel eventually has to go home. . . . how can this possibly end well?
> 
>  
> 
> This is a multi-chapter work that begins with a PG rating, and turns into an Explicit rating fairly quickly.

**_CHAPTER 5_**  
  
  
The next day Dan woke at noon, groggy but very happy. The show had gone well the night before, and he couldn't stop thinking about his day with Molly. She fascinated him. She was vivacious and energetic, yet she also had some insecurities that Dan found endearing. In fact, there was an errand he wanted to take care of before he dealt with any business matters like phone interviews and paperwork. He showered and dressed quickly, then used his laptop to locate a place that would have what he needed. After making a few phone calls, the purchase was made and would be delivered to Molly's apartment in the afternoon. It was at times like this that Dan realized the advantages to being wealthy. He sat back in the desk chair and stretched, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Alan walked into the living room, coffee in hand, and tossed a newspaper onto the low coffee table, then looked over at his son. Dan was leaning back in his chair, a rather mysterious smile on his face.

"Well, what's got you so happy today? I suppose you're pleased with last night's performance, then. Richard told me it went really well."

Startled, Dan sat up and began to fidget with items on the desk. A loose paperclip, a pen. "Yes," he stammered. "It was a good show. The audience really responded. What?" He saw that his father was scrutinizing him the way he did when he was trying to read him.

Alan watched Dan for a moment, considering the reaction his neutral comment had caused. "Just wondering," he said slowly, "why thinking about a good show would first make you happy, and then nervous." He knew, of course, that last night's performance was _not_ what was on Dan's mind—but he was almost afraid to find out what was.

"I'm not nervous," Dan shot back, then began scratching his arm. In the process, he knocked over his teacup, which was, fortunately, nearly empty. "I'm . . . I'm just . . ." He swallowed. Hearing himself say it made it real. "Do you remember that girl I met? The one I spent the day with yesterday?"

Alan blinked, and struggled not to let his own nervousness show. This was exactly what he had expected to hear . . . and not wanted to hear, at the same time. _Don't jump to conclusions,_ he told himself. _And try not to worry—yet._

"Yes, I remember—Molly. You had a nice time with her, I'm thinking." He deliberately did not say anything more.

"I did. She's really great. I think you would really like her." Dan paused and chewed his nails. "I asked her out on a date. A real date."

"A real date," Alan repeated. He sat down on the sofa, put his coffee on the table in front of him, and sighed. "It was more than just a nice time, then; you really connected with her." He paused, studied Dan for a moment, and then smiled slightly as he remembered their conversation from the other night. "It's time already to take her 'someplace special,' is it?"

Dan stood up and walked over to the armchair next to the sofa. He threw himself into it and licked his lips. "Do you think that's a bad idea? Do you think I'm rushing into this?"

"I have to say, again: you're the only one who could really know that. How do _you_ feel about it, what does going out on a 'real' date with Molly mean to you?" Alan leaned forward and picked up his coffee cup, taking a sip before going on. "The only thing I might remind you of is—"

He frowned. Should he say the obvious? Surely Dan had already thought about the complications of a serious relationship developing when he was so far from home?

Dan watched his father as the cup paused at his lips. "I'm leaving in February. So what's the point? Is that what you were going to say?" He scratched his leg. "I imagine there is no point. Except that I really like her and I enjoy being with her. Can't that be enough for now?"

"I don't know, Dan." Alan arched an eyebrow. " _Is_ it going to be enough?"

Dan sighed and looked at the far wall. "I suppose it'll have to be." Then he looked back at his father, the man who knew all of his secrets, the man who had guided him all these years and was always there for him. "Do you . . . do you think I should call it off?"

Alan sighed, and felt a sudden tightness in his chest. This was one of those times when the boy Dan had been and the young man he was got very tangled up in a father's heart.

"Do I think you shouldn't enjoy being close to someone," he said quietly, "just because it's not likely to last forever? No, I would never tell you that, Dan."

Dan hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he exhaled suddenly, relieved by his father's answer. "I understand your concern. And I realize it can't possibly last. It's just a date, right?"

Alan had a sudden, very sharp memory of a much younger version of himself, saying almost the same words. And just as suddenly he was the one with the mysterious smile. He took another sip of coffee to try and cover it.

"It's just a date, Dan. Try not to worry about where it's going to end—just enjoy your time with Molly. That's my advice."

Dan nodded and stared at his feet. "It's good advice," he acknowledged. "Thanks, Dad."

His father was right. He shouldn't think about where this was going. This wasn't about forever. This was about now, while he was here in New York. He'd been homesick recently and missing his friends. He missed being in London. And yes, he was making new friends here, but Molly was different. She wasn't another actor or someone connected with the theatre. This belonged to him and only him. Thinking about Molly made him smile again.

 

******  


 

  
Molly strolled down the sidewalk, swinging her handbag slightly. The day had been long, but she still had a trace of the smile on her face that had been there since yesterday afternoon. Thinking about her day with Dan in the park yesterday, and wondering about dinner with him on Sunday, had helped her get through the day.

A moment later, and she was at the door of her building. She had no plans for the evening other than to relax, maybe look at the dress she had decided on for Sunday night, and make absolutely sure it was right . . . Molly rolled her eyes and laughed at herself, but that tiny little thrill she'd been feeling since last night shivered through her again.

"Hello, John," she called out as she entered the lobby.

Her doorman turned and smiled at her. "Good evening, Miss Molly. You have a package here."

Molly stopped short. "A package? I'm not expecting anything."

John shrugged. "It's got your name on it—and it's a little heavy. I'll take it to the elevator for you."

"Heavy?" Molly was bewildered, but John was already halfway to the elevator, and she followed him, shaking her head. Once inside, she tried to peel back some of the paper on the thing, hoping for a peek at something that would solve the mystery. Nothing.

Once she got to her floor, Molly carried the parcel to her door, let herself in, and then carefully placed it on her coffee table. She studied it for a minute, and then began ripping the paper with determination. What could this possibly be?

Her mouth fell open as a handful of packaged artist's brushes fell out and onto the floor, leaving her with a good-sized wooden box and a thick book entitled "Watercolor - Basic Technique" in her hands. "Oh, my . . ." Molly said quietly, and then she noticed there was an envelope inside the cover of the book. Holding her breath, she pulled it out.  
  
  
 _Dear Molly,_

 _After what you said in the park yesterday, I don't think you should go_  
another day without at least trying to achieve one of your dreams.  
I hope this helps to get you started.

_Looking forward to our date Sunday._

_Fondly,  
Dan_

******  


 

  
Friday night, another show. Another crowd of people waiting at the stage door for him. He was getting used to this now, though he was still amazed at the frenzy. After, a late bite with some of the cast members and their friends, and of course his father. By the time Dan and Alan arrived home, it was after one. Too late to call Molly.

So Dan went to sleep and awoke late the next morning. Saturday. She would be off today, he thought as he showered. He ate breakfast with his father, and then Alan went off to make some calls, leaving Dan alone in the living room.

Dan retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. He closed it. Opened it again, closed it, and rested it against his chin. No, he'd make the call now. After all, they had to discuss their plans for tomorrow night. There wouldn't be time later, with two shows today and a matinee tomorrow. With resolve, he flipped open the phone once more, found Molly's number, and pressed the call button. And waited.

Late Saturday morning, and Molly was curled up on her sofa, studying her new watercolor text intently. After she had gotten over the shock of Dan sending her such an amazing and thoughtful gift, her first thought was that she needed to thank him. Tell him just how much it meant that he had paid that kind of attention to her dreams. But . . . she didn't have his number.

 _Of course you don't,_ she told herself—after she had let loose with a couple of choice words to vent her frustration. Dan was not the kind of person who could just give out his phone number. She understood that now. She would have to wait for Sunday to thank him, and that was just a little annoying. But in the end, Molly decided that she should get started on the book, at least, to show him she was serious—and that she really appreciated what he'd done.

The phone rang, startling her out of her concentration. That was probably Tess, she thought, wanting to make arrangements about going to the movies tonight. Molly leaned across the sofa and grabbed the phone.

"Hello?" she said into the phone, her eyes still focused on the chapter she was reading on landscapes.

"Hello," Dan began, keeping his voice even and trying not to speak too quickly, as he had a tendency to do when he was excited. "My name is Dan. May I please speak with Molly?"

Molly sat up quickly, letting the book slip from her hand. "Dan? This _is_ Molly!" She bit her lip and squinched her eyes shut for a moment; the sound of his voice made her feel ridiculously happy. "Oh—I was hoping you would call!"

"You were?" Dan said in jest. "And why would that be?"

"Oh, you know!" Molly said, pretending to be exasperated. Then, her voice growing softer, she said, "Dan . . . that was such a sweet, thoughtful thing to do. Thank you, so much. I—I don't know what to say, except . . . thank you." Molly sighed, wishing she could find the words to let him know his gift had really touched her.

"You're welcome," he replied, not knowing what else to say. "I thought it might inspire you. There's no reason at all you shouldn't pursue something you love." He began to fidget again, picking at an invisible thread on his jeans. "Actually, the reason I rang you in the first place is that I shall be quite busy today, and I was hoping to confirm our plans for tomorrow. That is, are we still on for tomorrow?" Dan suddenly had this fear that Molly was going to say no, that she had changed her mind and was going to call the whole thing off. His heartbeat quickened as he waited for her response.

Molly blinked. "Oh, yes, definitely! I'm really looking forward to it, Dan." It was hard to believe that Dan could be insecure about a date, but that's what it sounded like. And that touched her, too. She decided to give him a little . . . special reassurance. "I've picked out a very special dress to wear, so I hope you're still looking forward to it, too!" And then she held her breath, hoping she hadn't gone too far.

Dan grinned. "I don't suppose you're going to describe it to me."

Molly laughed, reassured herself by the smile she could hear in his voice. He _was_ looking forward to seeing her again. "No, you're going to have to wait! So—what time tomorrow?"

"It's going to be that way, is it?" teased Dan. "Is eight o'clock all right?"

"Yes, it's going to be that way," she teased back. "And eight o'clock sounds perfect—the dress and I will be ready." She giggled quietly to herself, and then sighed again. "You'll be headed for the theater soon, I guess?"

Dan's hand trailed along his leg, finding another invisible thread to play with. "Yes, in a bit. I want to give you my number, though, in case you need to reach me."

Molly's eyes widened; she had not been expecting him to say that.

"Thank you," she said quietly, "that would be good. I'll get my cell, so I can put it right in there—just in case." She got up from the sofa and dug her phone out of her backpack. "Okay . . ."

Dan gave her his number, repeating it to make sure she had it, then asked, "So what are _you_ going to do today?"

"Right now I am reading my watercolor technique book." Molly smiled as she picked it up again. "Later, I'll go for a run. And tonight, I'm going to the movies with my friend Tess. We try to do that every couple of weeks. _If_ we can agree over whether to see a comedy or something intense, that is," she added, laughing.

"What do _you_ want to see?" Dan lay back on the couch, resting his feet on the arm.

"Oh, I go for the angst, every time! It's so much more interesting than funny, I think!" Molly stretched out on the sofa, smiling and feeling very content with the unexpected treat of being able to just chat with Dan on a Saturday morning. Her book slid to the floor, forgotten again for the moment. "What kind of movies do you like best?"

"I like all kinds, really. Foreign films, old movies . . . have you seen—" He was about to ask if she'd seen _Twelve Angry Men_ , one of his favorite movies, when Alan entered the room, pointing at his watch. Dan nodded, then said to Molly, "I'm so sorry, my dad just informed me that it's time to go. Why don't we continue this conversation tomorrow night? You can tell me all about the movie you're seeing tonight."

"Oh, I'm sorry—I kept you too long," she said quickly. "But yes—I will. I love talking about movies." Suddenly, having to say good-bye made Molly look forward to their date even more. "I'll see you tomorrow night, at eight, then."

"Yes, I'm really looking forward to it," Dan stammered. As he said good-bye, he realized he'd been breathing hard and fought to get it under control. Molly seemed to have this effect on him more and more. The more he spoke with her, the more attracted he was becoming, not just physically, but intellectually.

But for the rest of the day and all through Sunday afternoon, Dan focused solely on his work. After the Sunday matinee, he went straight home and took a long nap. He showered and trimmed his beard as best he could; because of the play, he wasn't allowed to shave it off, so he figured he would focus on making himself look as presentable as possible. After spending a few minutes in the large walk-in closet staring at his clothes, he decided on his black trousers with the satin piping, a crisp button-down with a subtle pattern, and a suit jacket. No tie, he though. Too formal. He played with his hair for a few minutes, splashed on some cologne, and then went into the living room, where his father was reading a book.

Alan looked up; he had heard Dan moving around in his room for a while now, and knew he was getting ready for his date. When he saw his son, Alan took in his appearance and his quiet excitement—the latter would probably not have been apparent to anyone else, but he could sense it. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to smile or sigh. It was becoming more and more plain that Dan had already begun to care for this young woman. Feeling happy for his son and worrying about him: Alan had the sudden premonition he was going to be doing a lot of both in the next few months.

He got up out of his chair and walked over to Dan, pretending to look him over critically. Alan reached out and straightened the shoulders of Dan's jacket, and then smiled.

"You look very nice, son. Molly will be impressed."

"Do you think I should wear a tie? I thought that might seem too stuffy."

"No, I don't think you need a tie, Dan. You're not going any place that formal, surely?" Alan looked him over again. "No, you look fine. And you've got no show tomorrow, so you can just relax and enjoy your time with her."

Dan nodded, took a deep breath, and smiled. Was this his father's way of saying it was okay with him? His dad had supported him through everything Dan had been through for the past nine years. He'd seen him off on many dates before. Yet Dan understood that this was different. They were not on their own "turf," as the Americans say. He was about to go on a date with a virtual stranger. He would have to be careful. Dan wanted very much for his father to be all right with this.

"I don't know why I should be nervous; it's not like I've never gone on a date before, is it?"

"No," Alan said slowly. "But you're in a place that's still new to you, with someone who has very little connection to everything you know and feel secure about. I think being nervous is normal." Alan paused, considering his next words for a moment, and then put his hand on Dan's shoulder. "Be careful—as I know you will—but don't be nervous about what you're feeling, Dan. I trust you, and I think you trust yourself not to do anything that isn't . . . right." He looked into Dan's eyes, and smiled again. "You'd better get going, hadn't you? Don't want to keep her waiting."

Dan was about to say something but stopped. He knew his father was right, but somehow that made him more nervous. What if this was a big mistake? What if someone spotted them? But then he reminded himself that he did know how to get around without being seen, and that, for the most part, the New York paparazzi left him alone.

"Well, when you put it that way," Dan joked. "Thanks, Dad. And . . . don't wait up," he added, with a wink.

Earlier, he'd called for the car and asked the driver to wait in front. He felt it would be easier to use his own driver rather than rely on cabs, so that they wouldn't have to wait out in the street in full view. As he rode the lift down to the lobby, he wondered if this was going to bother Molly. But he couldn't dwell on it. For now, he would concentrate on tonight. As his father said so wisely, he should just relax and enjoy spending time with her.

But first, he had to make one quick stop . . .

 

******  


 

  
Molly stood in front of the mirror, her right hand fluttering around her hair as she checked out her appearance one last time. The dress was perfect—it always made her feel really good about herself, and confident, when she wore it. It was a rich, dark red—claret, the salesgirl had called it—with a very faint pattern in the background that made it look even richer, like brocade. Halter-style, with a black satin band under the empire waist, and short—but not short enough that she was afraid to move in it. And the soft silk clung to her body in all the best places when she did move.

Molly smiled as she looked at the deep V-neckline, meant to draw someone's gaze to what she'd always felt was one of her best physical features. This was, after all, their third date; she figured it was time to start letting Dan know it was okay to look . . . and start moving beyond a stolen kiss or two.

She took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but it didn't really help. Molly was excited about tonight, about seeing Dan again, about how she felt when she was with him.

One last thing: she scooped up the pair of earrings she'd chosen to go with the outfit—black onyx stones set in gold—and put them on. Then she fluffed her hair again and headed out of her bedroom to get a coat out of the closet. Just as she put her hand on the closet door, the buzzer sounded.

"It's Mr. Radcliffe again, Miss Molly." John's voice carried just a hint of a smile. "Should I send him up?"

"Yes, please, John." Molly took in another deep breath as she unlocked her door and waited.

Dan walked rigidly to the elevator after the doorman gave him the okay, clutching the flowers he'd picked up on the way. Earlier in the day, he'd taken Anna Camp aside at the theater and asked her advice. She was the only cast member who knew he had a date tonight. If Lorenzo, Colin, Spencer, or any of the other guys found out, they'd take the mickey out of him. But Anna had a really sensitive side, so when he told her about his date and asked what kind of flowers he should bring, she smiled and thought for a minute. "Lilies," she'd said simply. "Roses are too cliché."

So that's what he'd purchased, and now, as he walked the hallway toward Molly's door, he only hoped that she would like them. He inhaled as he pressed the doorbell and listened for the sound of footsteps.

Molly paced a little as she waited; when she heard the elevator doors open, she stopped and breathed in one last, deep gulp of air, closing her eyes for a moment. She knew she wasn't really nervous, just excited—and happier than she could remember feeling in a long time.

The doorbell rang, and she walked over, put her hand on the doorknob, and opened it.

"Hey," she said softly, "it's good to see—" Molly stopped mid-sentence. Dan was standing at her door, looking even more handsome than usual and holding a large bouquet of flowers.

"Oh, Dan! They're . . . they're beautiful!"

Dan stared, open-mouthed. He hoped Molly was so distracted by the flowers that she didn't notice his eyes roaming from her face to the dress, with its obvious assets. He forced his eyes upward, locking on her face. "S-so do you," he stammered. He swallowed, glad he wasn't wearing a tie after all, because he would have to loosen it. Still, he was unable to move, so taken was he by the vision before him.

Molly stared at the graceful, cream-white Calla lilies on their strong and slender stems. She'd had flowers from dates before, sure, but no one had ever brought her anything so . . . elegant. She didn't know what to say, but when she finally looked up at Dan to try and express how touched she was . . . Molly noticed that he seemed to be at a loss for words, too. She bit back a smile, pleased that he seemed to like her dress as much as she'd hoped he would. She put her hand gently on his.

"I . . . should put these in water before we go. Dan, they're gorgeous. Thank you." She moved her hand to take hold of the stems, suddenly eager to distract herself by fussing with the flowers in the kitchen for a moment. If she didn't move away from him soon, she would be tempted to kiss him right here and now.

Startled back into the present by Molly's touch, Dan realized he was still holding the flowers, and handed them to Molly. "You're welcome." Gorgeous. She said the flowers were gorgeous, but she was the one who was gorgeous. He fought to compose himself as he followed her inside but remained at the door. He watched as she moved toward the kitchen, the dress clinging to her body and swaying with each step she took.

Molly had to stretch to reach a vase in her kitchen cupboard—she used them so rarely—hoping as she did that her dress was not riding up too high up when she reached. Dan was still standing at the door, but she wasn't sure if he could actually see into the kitchen from there. She kept her back turned as she arranged the flowers a bit, trying to get the blush in her cheeks under control before she turned to face him.

"Well—should we get going? We don't want to be late for our reservation, right?" She walked quickly back to the closet for her coat, grabbed the small bag that she'd picked to go with her outfit, and gestured toward the door, smiling.

"No. I mean, yes. Yes, we should be going." He wanted to kiss her, but somehow the timing was all wrong. There would be time for that later. He hoped. So for now, he led the way out and waited while Molly locked the door. Outside, the SUV was waiting. Dan held the door open for Molly and followed her into the backseat. And although the driver was in the car with them, Dan shifted uncomfortably. He could smell Molly's perfume, light and sweet and tantalizing. He was thankful the restaurant was only a short distance away, or things could get very interesting very quickly.

Dan tried not to stare at Molly's dress as they neared the restaurant, and he was grateful when the driver—his personal bodyguard, Steve—finally pulled up. Steve got out, went over to Molly's door, and helped her out. After Dan followed her onto the sidewalk, he turned to Steve. "I'll call when we're ready to leave. Thank you very much."

They were standing outside Café Luxembourg, an out-of-the-way Upper West Side, elegant yet understated French restaurant that catered to New York's more mature elite. Dan and his parents had been here a number of times and had gotten to know the manager, Peter Stephan, quite well. So when he ushered Molly inside, they were immediately greeted.

"Dan, good to see you," Peter said, stretching his hand out.

Dan shook it and replied, "Hello, Peter. This is my friend Molly."

"Welcome, Molly. Is this your first time with us?"

"Yes, it is." Molly smiled at Peter, feeling a bit overwhelmed as she looked around at the sophisticated décor and tastefully dimmed lighting. "It's lovely!"

Actually, Molly was a little relieved to be at the restaurant. Sitting in the backseat of the SUV with Dan had brought to mind the first evening they had spent together, when he'd taken her home after dinner. The slightly disorienting thrill of being so near to him, in such close quarters, was even stronger now that they had shared the beginnings of intimacy, and there had been a few moments when it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him. But it wasn't the right time for that, not yet. She had kept herself to a few stolen glances—he really did look _very_ handsome tonight—and to savoring the scent of his cologne, subtle and clean and slightly spicy.

"Thank you. We have a very nice table waiting for you." And indeed, they were taken to the back of the restaurant, a corner table where they would at least have the illusion of privacy. On Sundays in New York, the restaurant was not crowded anyway, and the diners present paid them no mind.

When they were seated and the waiter had presented the menus and announced the specials, he turned to Molly and asked, "Would you care for a glass of wine or a cocktail?"

Dan looked over at her and said earnestly, "Go ahead. I really don't mind."

Molly shook her head. "No, thank you," she said to the waiter. "I'll have some iced tea, please." Dan ordered his usual Diet Coke, and when the waiter left so they could study the menus, she turned back to Dan and smiled. "It's okay; I'm really not that much of a drinker, actually. A glass of wine now and then, but it's not a big deal."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to feel that you can't have a glass of wine because I'm not allowed to drink here."

"I'm positive, Dan," Molly said, trying to be reassuring. "And besides, if that kind of thing—" She took in a breath, trying to decide how to phrase what she wanted to say. "If our age difference bothered me, I wouldn't be here. It doesn't. Really, I have more difficulty wondering how to deal with . . . well, the fact that you're famous." She blushed, hoping he'd understand. "I mean, I don't know how you can deal with some of the restrictions on your life."

Dan was surprised by her answer. "Restrictions? What do you mean?"

"Those girls in the park on Thursday, and the kids at the carousel, for instance. You were just trying to have an afternoon out, but you had to pose for pictures, and cut short what you were doing so there wouldn't be a scene . . ." She paused and sighed. "I don't know if I'm explaining this very well. I could see how much it meant to those girls that you were so nice to them, and I thought it was _wonderful_ that you were." She smiled warmly at him. "It just seems . . . unfair that you can't do whatever you want to do without worrying about being recognized, or interrupted."

Dan was touched that Molly saw it that way. He'd been living this life for so long he didn't realize how it looked from the other side. "I don't really mind it. I'm really lucky to be doing what I'm doing. When you're an actor, you have to accept that it's part of the job." He looked over at Molly, so attractive in her dress, and added, "It only becomes a problem if I'm out with a beautiful girl and someone asks for my autograph."

Molly laughed quietly, her cheeks flushing a little. "Well, let's hope no one recognizes you tonight, then," she said playfully. "I think I'd also rather have a little privacy when I'm having dinner with a good-looking man." She looked at him over the candles that stood in the center of their table, and felt that little thrill run through her again. She breathed in and ducked her head for a moment to try and calm the feelings she was suddenly having, then saw the menus, which they hadn't even touched yet.

"I—I suppose we should look at these before he comes back, right?" she said, feeling a little flustered.

For a while, they concentrated on their meal and on conversation. It was during their entrees that Dan finally remembered. His eyes lit up. "Did you see a film last night, with your friend?"

"Oh, yes!" Molly said, putting down her glass and grinning. "I sort of won the "comedy vs. drama" argument, but Tess really didn't mind. We went to see _Australia_ , and it was fantastic! A real _Gone with the Wind_ type of epic. And Tess just adores Hugh Jackman—thinks he's gorgeous!" Molly stopped herself then, and blinked. She'd always thought Tess's crush on the Australian actor was cute, and completely understandable. But now she suddenly felt a little weird, not to mention awkward, discussing it with Dan . . . who was also an actor that women found gorgeous. "Ummm," she said uncertainly.

Molly's comment went completely over his head. "What? He's a fantastic actor. Have you seen _The Fountain_?" He had forgotten that Molly was new to all of this, that she had never dated an actor before.

"Oh, no, I haven't!" Molly forgot all about her awkwardness for a moment. " I don't know how I missed that one—I really want to see it," she said, sighing. "I've seen almost all of his other movies."

Dan raised his eyebrows and asked with a grin, "Oh, have you? Do you fancy him?"

Molly stared at Dan with her mouth open, and gave a little gasp of surprise. Her feeling of awkwardness returned for a moment, but then she realized that, since he was teasing her, he was obviously not put off by her talk about attractive actors. She arched an eyebrow back at him. "No, I don't," she said firmly, but with a smile, "though I'll admit he's not hard to look at. He's a really great actor, but he's not really my type."

Dan took a sip of his Coke and asked coyly, "And just what is your type, Miss O'Connor?"

Molly looked up at the ceiling and pursed her lips, as if she were considering his question very seriously. "Hmm . . . let me think," she said, mischief in her voice. When she looked back at Dan, her grin softened into a slightly shy smile. "I'm not sure that I have a type, actually. I've always thought, you never know what will attract you to someone, make them special, until you see them, and then you just . . . get it."

Looking down at the tablecloth, she fiddled with her spoon, her shy smile growing a little, and when the waiter arrived a moment later to tell them about desserts, Molly wasn't sure whether she was glad he prevented her from saying any more or not.

"Oh, white chocolate mousse!" she exclaimed, interrupting the waiter's recitation. "I love it!"

Dan was delighted by her childlike enthusiasm for sweets, and while they indulged in dessert, he thought about what she'd said. WAS she attracted to him? He hoped so, because he found that he was deeply attracted to her.

As they savored their desserts, Molly looked around the restaurant again. It really was a very elegant place, and there were so few people there, it felt like she and Dan had this little corner of it all to themselves. She was admiring the flowers arranged on a pedestal in the center of the room when suddenly she became aware of the music playing softly in the background.

"I don't believe it! They're playing Chantal Chamberland—she is awesome!!"

Dan looked up, puzzled. "Who?"

Molly sighed. "No one I know has _ever_ heard of her. She's a really great jazz singer—you know, the old 'torch' standards? Moody, romantic, kind of sultry . . . very French, so I'm not surprised they play her here."

She looked at Dan, a wistful expression on her face. "My mom and dad have always loved this kind of music, and I grew up listening to singers like Dinah Washington and Ella Fitzgerald. She's like them, and I love her." Molly stopped talking for a moment and listened, captivated by the music. "Yes," she said, "I have this CD, but this isn't even the best song on it! You should hear some of the others—really, you should!"

"This isn't really my style of music, but now you've piqued my curiosity." He listened for a moment. Sometimes his parents listened to old jazz, and he knew there were quite a few CDs in his mother's collection. Dan didn't want to assume anything, but it would certainly give them an excuse to go back to Molly's flat.

Molly took a deep breath. She'd been hoping all night that just the right moment would come along, and had promised herself she would take advantage of it, if it did.

"Ahhh . . . if you'd like, we could—could go back to my place and listen to it? Maybe have a glass of wine. If you'd like," she repeated, putting down her spoon. Taking a quick glance around the dining room and seeing they were still pretty much alone in their corner, Molly slowly slid her hand halfway across the table, behind the candles and vase that stood off to the side. She was certain no one but Dan could see what she was doing, and she held her breath, waiting to see if he would come the rest of the way, and touch her.

"I know I'd like that, very much," she said quietly.

Dan looked across the table, although he was having trouble looking directly into Molly's eyes. They were so beautiful, and in this lighting, with that dress, it was more than he could bear. He slid his hand over to meet hers and brushed his fingers against her soft skin. "So would I," he said, and swallowed.

He signaled the waiter and asked for the check, and while the bill was being paid, excused himself and made a quick call to his driver. He chatted with Molly some more, until Steve arrived with the car. And then they were on their way to Molly's place.

In the back of his mind, Dan wondered what his dad would think of this, but he also knew that his father trusted him and knew he wouldn't do anything rash. Dan had no intention of rushing things. After all, they were just going to listen to some music and have a drink, right?

It seemed like no time at all before she and Dan were standing in her elevator again, on their way up to her apartment. Molly tried to calm the butterflies she was feeling in her chest, but it was no good. When they got to her door, she fumbled with the key a little before she got it open; she hoped Dan hadn't noticed.

Once the door was open, she turned to him and smiled. "Please—come in."

"Thank you," he said quietly. Now that he was up here, he was nervous, and he didn't know why. It wasn't as though there were photographers parked outside. This was a date. A real date. Something he hadn't had in a while. And Molly was a beautiful girl. Someone he enjoyed talking to. He glanced around and walked further into the living room. "You have a lovely flat. Do you live here by yourself?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Yes, I do—I'm one of the luckiest people in New York, I think!" Molly laughed as she told him how the apartment had once belonged to her grandmother, but when she had died, Molly's brother had been able to take over the lease, and then Molly had "inherited" the place after him. "It's one of the oddities of this city, that you can actually manage to pass your apartment on to someone in your family, and the landlord can't raise the rent as much as they could for a whole 'new' tenant," she explained. "I'd never be able to afford to live alone otherwise. I'm so grateful for the privacy, believe me. It's small, but it's all mine."

She moved to the other side of the living room, and turned on a lamp. "Umm . . . I'll get us some wine. I hope red's okay? Please, make yourself comfortable, Dan." Molly headed for the kitchen, trying to keep herself from thinking about the fact that, in another minute, she'd be sitting beside him on the sofa, with nothing between them but a wine glass.

Dan took a walk around the small living room, glancing at photographs and other knickknacks before settling on the couch. He put his hands on his legs and waited. A glass of wine would be good about now, if only to calm the fluttering in his stomach.

Molly came back into the living room and handed Dan his glass of wine, then set her own glass down on the coffee table. "I'm just going to get that CD," she said, and turned to search through a tall wooden CD tower for a moment. When she found what she was looking for, she slipped it into the player, adjusted the volume, and then came over to sit down beside Dan on the sofa. Picking up her glass, she smiled at him. "I really hope you're going to like this."

Dan had taken a sip of the wine, warm and woodsy in his mouth. As the music filtered through the speakers, Dan _was_ reminded of his mum. She would sometimes tell stories from her dancing days, and how _her_ mother used to like jazz. "It's nice. A bit old-fashioned, but nice." He put down his glass and went over to the CD tower. "What else have you got here? Is that . . . Bon Jovi?"

Molly's face went a bit red, but she sighed heavily and rolled her eyes anyway. "Oh, you _would_ have to find that one, wouldn't you? Aren't we all allowed our guilty pleasures?"

"You call this a guilty pleasure? And . . . oh no, this can't be, I should just leave now." With a CD in his hand, Dan made as though he was heading for the door.

"What have you got?" Molly squeaked. "Let me see it!" She lunged forward as Dan moved past her, and grabbed the edge of his jacket.

Dan pulled away just in time, keeping the CD in question out of reach. "Oh, wait, what's your favorite song on this album, hmm? Could it be . . . this one?"

"Give it to me!" Molly giggled, still trying to get it away from him. "I did not ask you up here to make fun of my CD collection!"

Molly had been trying to reach around Dan, and her body was pressed against his. Dan turned around so he was facing her, still holding the CD out of reach. "What _did_ you bring me up here for, then?" he asked, with raised eyebrows.

Her breath caught, and Molly swallowed hard as, suddenly, Dan was so close to her she could smell his cologne again, and feel the warmth of his body. She licked her lips. "Give me that CD, and I'll tell you," she whispered.

It was suddenly getting quite warm. Dan leaned in. "Why don't you just show me?" he whispered back.

Molly tried to remember how to breathe as she looked into Dan's eyes. In the background, she heard—almost in a haze—the words of one of her favourite songs on the Chamberland CD:  
  
  
 _Did you say I've got a lot to learn?_  
Well, don't think I'm trying not to learn.  
Since this is the perfect spot to learn,  
Teach me tonight.  
  
  
She reached up and placed her hands flat on Dan's chest, then slipped them up to his shoulders. "Like this?" she asked.

The CD in his hand forgotten, Dan let it drop to the floor and slid his hands around Molly's slender waist. He nodded, closed his eyes, and brought his lips to Molly's in a soft, gentle kiss.

Molly's eyelids fluttered and closed as Dan's mouth gently took hers, and for a moment she felt as if they were back in the park again, when he had kissed her for the first time and her knees had gone all weak and she wasn't sure she would ever be able to breathe properly again. She slipped one hand from his shoulder up the back of his neck, and stroked her fingers through his hair as she leaned in closer and started to kiss him back, pressing her lips softly against his.

Molly's response only encouraged Dan. He pulled her closer. Again and again, he kissed her, and when he was certain she wouldn't pull away, he parted his lips and closed them over her mouth, kissing her more deeply than before.

Moaning lightly, Molly dug her fingers into the shoulder of Dan's jacket as their kiss became more intense. With a sigh, her lips opened and she tried to catch his bottom lip between them.

Dan began breathing heavily and suddenly broke the kiss. Without saying a word, he took Molly's hand and led her over to the couch. When they were seated, he went right back to kissing her as though they hadn't stopped. Soon, he parted his lips once again, only this time he slipped his tongue into her warm, sweet mouth.

The butterflies that had been in Molly's chest before suddenly swooped down into her stomach as Dan's tongue gently pushed past her lips. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him even closer, eagerly accepting his sweet invasion and teasing him in deeper with her own tongue.

As Molly pulled Dan closer, his hands brushed the exposed skin of her lower back. The kiss was so intense that he was unaware of his roaming hands, unaware that while his tongue was exploring Molly's mouth, enjoying the lingering taste of the wine, his hands were moving upward, touching her back, feeling her warm skin, migrating forward, to the front of Molly's dress, toward—

"Wait," Dan said, panting and nearly breathless as he pushed away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry . . . maybe we should slow down a bit." His cheeks were hot, and he fought to regain composure.

Molly gasped and nodded—she couldn't have spoken at that moment if she'd tried. She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing hard as she struggled between feelings of disappointment and relief. As Dan's hands had skimmed so softly over her back, making her skin tingle and shiver, she'd wanted so much to take his hand and help him find his way toward the front of her dress, where she really wanted his touch. But some last trace of common sense told her they were moving too fast, that she couldn't do that yet.

Yes, she was very attracted to him, but not just physically. Molly had the sense, already, that her feelings for Dan might come to much more than that, and she didn't want to spoil anything by rushing things and giving him the wrong impression of who she was.

"It's all right, Dan." Molly still found it a little hard to breathe, but she smiled at him, and then reached up and stroked the side of his face tenderly. "I'm sorry, too. I sort of . . . got carried away."

Dan took her hand in his. Her touch was just exciting him more, and if she kept stroking his face like that, he'd only want to kiss her more. "No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have . . . it's just that you're . . ." He began to squirm and fidget. "I like you, Molly, and I'd like to see you again."

"I like you, too, Dan," Molly said, suddenly feeling both a little shy and incredibly happy. "When would you like to see me again?"

"Tomorrow," he replied, and kissed her softly, with much less urgency. "And the next day." Again, a soft kiss. "And the day after that . . ." This time, he let his lips linger.

Molly sighed and made a quiet, little noise against his mouth, wanting the kiss to go on and on and on . . . When it did end, she couldn't help reaching out to touch his lips with her fingertips. "I have to work tomorrow," she said weakly. Then she leaned in to kiss him tenderly, wanting to feel that softness again. "I'm off at 4:30." Another brush of her lips across his.

He was completely at her will, unable to move or do anything except respond to her soft, delicious kisses. "I'll pick you up after work," he said quietly. Another kiss. "Take you to supper," he whispered against her mouth.

"Okay," she whispered back. One more kiss . . . When she finally had to stop kissing him, so she could breathe, Molly gave a shaky little laugh and caressed Dan's face again. "We're going to get into trouble again if we don't stop this," she said wistfully.

Dan shivered at her touch. "You're right. We better stop." But he didn't. He sneaked in one more kiss. "I should probably go. It's getting late, and _you_ have to get up for work tomorrow."

"Yes, I do," Molly said, regretfully. She could have happily stayed right where they were all night, just kissing him until her lips were bruised and swollen. With a heavy sigh—and after one more stolen kiss of her own—Molly made herself stand up, and then offered her hand to Dan. "I'll walk with you to the elevator."

Dan nodded, smiling, and without taking his eyes off her, followed Molly to the door. But he stopped and took her face in his hands and kissed her one more time.

Molly closed her eyes and savored the feeling of his lips on hers one more time, the sensation of his warm, slightly rough hands on her skin. When she finally managed to pull herself away, she smiled at him. "Oh, look—we're still not at the elevator." Molly tugged at his jacket, sighing again. "Seriously—if we don't say good night soon, I'm afraid I won't want to."

Dan grinned as he allowed himself to be pulled through the door, down the hall. "Would that be such a terrible thing? Wait, don't answer that." They were now standing in front of the elevator, facing each other.

Taking both his hands in hers, Molly smiled at him and shook her head. "Oh, no . . . not terrible at all," she whispered. "But for now—good night." Then she lifted up onto her toes and kissed him softly, trying not to linger, meaning it to be the last kiss of the evening. She let go his hands and turned to walk away, before she could change her mind and do it again.

But before she could get far, Dan grabbed her hand and swung her around, back into his arms. "Good night," he said quietly, and kissed her back, long, slow, deeply, and then finally, finally, he released her. Just then, the elevator arrived.

Molly brought her fingers up to her lips; she was breathless all over again from Dan's kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, her voice low and husky. "Now . . . _go_." She pushed him into the elevator, and just before the doors closed, she blew him a kiss.

  
  
  
---


End file.
